


Not Dignified or Newsworthy (The Torchwood Love Actually Redux)

by faithharkness



Series: Reel Torchwood fics [3]
Category: Doctor Who, Merlin - Fandom, Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, F/M, Love Actually AU, M/M, reel torchwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 15:04:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8757313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithharkness/pseuds/faithharkness
Summary: Love is all around.  And this year, it has gone stark-raving mad.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a few years ago for the Reel Torchwood community. I had no idea when I signed on for this how crazy doing this would be. The mods of the community at the time allowed me to co-opt characters from other shows to fill out the minor characters because have you _seen_ how many characters are in this movie? I realized I'd never posted it to AO3; and it is my favorite Christmas movie, so this seemed an appropriate time to post it.
> 
>  **More importantly:** In scenes with Jack and Ianto, sentences in italics are in Welsh. Oh, and the line about the PM maybe being “gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous”? Yeah, I totally borrowed that from Gaiman’s _Good Omens_. But everyone else seems to be borrowing from him (*cough* Kripke *cough*).

**_Prologue_**  
Everyone in the studio was holding their breath as they watched the man in the recording booth. They had been here most of the morning trying to get the track laid down and no one was holding out any hope of getting to leave soon.

John Hart had been something of a sex-symbol rock and roll antihero in his day. There were some, when asked, who would still insist he was a sex symbol; but he had sold out too much to really be considered an antihero anymore. The fact that he was doing this particular “adaptation”, as he insisted upon calling it, was proof of that.

He sat on the stool—lounged, really—trying to get into the groove of the song. The music cued up and he began to sing.

“I feel it in my fingers. I feel it in my toes.”

He nodded at the back-up singers as they did their part, raising an eyebrow at the petite blonde in the middle.

“Love is all around us and so the feeling grows.”

 _Fuck!!_ He’d done it _again_. Donna Noble leaned forward to press the button to speak to him.

“You did it again, dumbo,” she said.

“It’s just that I know the old version so well.”

“Right. That’s why we came up with the idea for _this_ version,” Donna said, rolling her eyes. “Let’s try it again.”

The engineers nodded and cued the music back up, mortally afraid of the redhead behind them.

“I feel it in my fingers, I feel it in my toes,” he sang directly to Donna, who gave him a look that said this was not the way to apologize.

“Love is all around…ah, fuck wank bugger shitting ass head and hole,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Start again.”

This time, he got it dead right and Donna found herself dancing even as she threw her hands up in triumph.

She did, however, roll her eyes again, as John began putting a little more hip-thrust into the song than it strictly needed.

John looked right at her during a musical break. “This is shit, isn’t it?”

“Yep, solid gold shit, my son. And don’t you forget it,” Donna replied, winking at him.

 ** _Five Weeks to Christmas_**  
Jack Harkness rushed around his bedroom one last time, checking to make sure he had everything. Usually, he relied upon Estelle for this, but she was sick in bed. He looked over his shoulder at his lovely wife.

Well, usually lovely wife. She was still stunning, her white-blonde hair framing her face, which was currently dominated by a nose that would put Rudolph to shame.

“Oh, I am going to be so late,” he said, shoving his wallet in his pocket.

“It’s right around the corner, love, you’ll make it,” she said, pulling her long legs to her chest and wrapping her arms around them.

“Are you sure you don’t mind me going without you?” he asked. He hated leaving her behind when she was ill, but they were his best friends. A little voice in the back of his head told him he should be concerned that she wasn’t insisting upon going; she didn’t like how flirtatious he tended to get at wedding receptions. She didn’t like how flirtatious he got, full stop, but at wedding receptions, he was really in his element.

“No, really. I’m just feeling so rotten.”

He leaned in to kiss her. “I love you.”

“I know,” she said, dodging the kiss.

He kept the frown off his face. “I love you even when you’re dripping with snot and completely revolting.”

“I know,” she laughed.

He managed to sneak in a kiss, but she quickly pushed him off. “Now get going or you’ll miss it completely,” she said, shoving him toward the door with a quick swat to his bum.

“Right,” he said, hurrying out of the room. He ducked back in a moment later. “Did I mention that I love you?”

“Yes, you did. Now get out, you brash American sod,” she said, smiling.

He took one last look at her lounging on the bed and did just that.  
****

Mickey Smith sat at his drafting table with his head in his hands. He rubbed them down his face and thought for a moment before giving in and reaching for his phone. He picked it up and hit speed dial.

“Tosh,” he said when someone picked up at the other end. “It’s me again. I’m sorry. I literally don’t have anyone else to talk to.”

Tosh quickly rearranged her morning in her head to see if she had time to talk with Mickey. Sadly, she didn’t.

“Absolutely. Horrible moment right now, though. Can I call you back?” she said as she hurried through to her kitchen.

“Of course.”

“It doesn’t mean I’m not terribly concerned that your wife just died,” she said, then stopped and cringed at her thoughtlessness.

“Understood,” Mickey said with a small laugh. “Piss off. I’ll talk to you later,” he replied, then hung up.

Tosh put down her own phone and turned to look at her daughter, Katie, who was tugging anxiously at her sleeve. The little girl had been trying to get her attention all morning. She had big news. _Huge_ news.

“Now, what is this _huge_ news you have for me, then?” Tosh asked. She noticed absently that Katie’s tie was lopsided, meaning Owen had tried to help her with it.

“They’ve handed out parts for the nativity play!”

“Oh! Don’t hold me in suspense!”

“I’m the lobster!”

“The…lobster?”

“Yes!”

“In the _nativity_ play?”

“The _first_ lobster,” Katie clarified.

Tosh put her hands on her hips. “There was more than one lobster at the birth of Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ?”

“Duh,” Katie said, as only an eleven-year-old could.  
****

It was a gorgeous room. Opulent, really. Merlin could, however, only see half of it at the moment as he had his hands and the side of his face pressed to the huge marble pillar. The pillar was cold to the touch and he shuddered at how it would feel against him at a later time. Perhaps there was a surreptitious way he could warm up the marble without rubbing himself up against it fully clothed. He didn’t want them to think he was a _complete_ pervert.

At his shudder, the man behind him tightened his hands briefly on Merlin’s jean-clad hips. Merlin resisted the urge to look over his shoulder at the blond. He had nearly swallowed his tongue upon meeting him; he was petrified at what he would do if he saw him pressed up against his backside, gently rocking as he was.

“All right, that’s good. You can stop there, thanks,” the assistant director called.

The blond stood up and stepped back, allowing Merlin to straighten and move away from the pillar. Merlin turned to look at his “co-star” as the techs began moving lighting equipment around.

The blond held his hand out. “By the way, he introduced me as Art, but it’s actually Arthur.”

 _Bugger me_ , Merlin thought. He shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Arthur. He got me right, though. I’m just Merlin.”

“Just _Merlin_?” Arthur asked, eyebrow raised.

“Er…yes?”

“Well, all right, then,” Arthur replied, releasing his hand.  
****

Rose Tyler stood and straightened her bodice one last time, staring ahead at the double doors. Her maid of honor, Martha, stood right beside her, waiting for her cue to move down the aisle.

“Everything’s set, then?” Rose asked for the hundredth time.

Martha rolled her eyes and smiled at her best friend. “Yes.”

“And no surprises?”

“No surprises,” Martha replied, nodding solemnly.

“Not like my hen night?” Rose asked, eyebrow raised.

“Unlike the hen night.”

“You do realize now that the flyboy strippers were a mistake?”

“Big mistake,” Martha agreed.

“Especially when they turned out to be women with strap-ons?”

“ _Huge_ mistake,” Martha amended.

“Martha!” the wedding planner hissed, opening the doors for Martha to walk down the aisle.

Rose grinned wickedly, then looped her arm through Martha’s, deciding to move this along.

Yvonne Hartman, wedding planner to the stars, gaped after them.

Rose’s steps slowed almost imperceptibly as they neared the altar. Her fiancé, Dr. John Smith, was knee-weakeningly dashing in his kilt. The sheer joy on his face was devastating. He reached out his hand to Rose, who took it as they turned to face the pastor.

Martha took her video camera out of her impossibly-bigger-on-the-inside handbag and began filming.  
****

The motorcade finally made its way to its last stop of the day: Number 10. Rhys Williams, the newly-elected Prime Minister, climbed out of the limo, wincing to himself that getting out of a limo gracefully was something else he had to work on.

He turned at the doorway, giving a boisterous wave to the people who had come to see him into office. He nodded once at the guard, then stepped into his new residence.

He smiled upon seeing the woman who had run his campaign so effortlessly and effectively.

“Welcome, Prime Minister,” she said, grinning broadly.

“Hello, Elle,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. “How are you?”

“Wonderful. And you? How are you feeling?”

Rhys glanced around at the other people standing stiffly around him. All prim and proper and neat as a cold pin. “Very…Welsh. And powerful,” he added.

Elle smiled. “Would you like to meet your household staff?”

“Anything to hold off actually running the country,” he replied with a broad grin.

Elle led him through to a group of three people standing in a line. 

Rhys sighed in relief. He had been rather afraid it would be a whole host of people; most of whom he would probably end up calling by the wrong name.

Elle stopped in front of an older, rather dignified man. “This is Terrance; he’s in charge.”

“Good, good. For a while there, I was terrified people were going to actually expect _me_ to be in charge,” Rhys said, smiling.

Terrance didn’t blink.

“Er…right. Well, you look imminently capable, Terrance. Not at all like someone who will run off with the silver.”

Elle moved on to the next person in line, a middle-aged woman in a sharply starched apron.

“This is Pat; she’s the housekeeper,” Elle said.

“Hello, sir.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m sure I’ll be easier than the last lot: no scary wife.” He paused for a moment. “No mad, president-assassination attempting PM, for that matter.”

Pat laughed uncertainly.

“And this is Gwen; she’s new. She’s Welsh, like you,” Elle said.

Rhys found himself standing in front of a beautiful dark-haired woman. She smiled nervously, revealing a gap between her two front teeth.

Gwen had to remind herself to breathe as he stood in front of her. _Rhys Williams_ was standing in front of her. He was standing in front of her and all she could think was, _Don’t look down_. She had been running late and hadn’t had a chance to change from her trainers into her non-sensible but perfectly appropriate shoes.

“Hello, Gwen,” he said.

“Hello, Rhys. I mean sir. Shit, I can’t believe I just said that.”

Rhys chuckled. 

“And now I’ve gone and said ‘shit’—twice. I’m so sorry, sir.”

Rhys laughed again. “No worries. You could have said ‘fuck’ and then we’d all be in a world of trouble.”

Gwen laughed with him. “I was telling my mate that I had this horrible premonition that I was going to fuck up on my first day,” she said, then covered her mouth with both hands.

Rhys just stood staring at her.

“Right. I’ll just get my things and then we’ll get you started on running the country,” Elle said, biting her lip to keep from laughing.

“Of course,” Rhys replied. He smiled at Gwen before turning to follow Elle. “Nice shoes,” he told her.

Gwen blushed and bowed her head slightly as he walked away.

Rhys turned back to see Gwen fighting back tears and being comforted by Pat. He resumed his walk and nodded at the office staff before closing his door behind him. He held onto the door handle and groaned.

“Oh, that is so inconvenient.”

Outside, Gwen stared longingly at the closed door, hoping desperately she hadn’t just verbally vomited her way out of a job and Rhys Williams’ life.  
****

Dr. John Smith looked at his beautiful fiancée—no, as of this moment, wife—and smiled.

“You may kiss the bride,” the pastor said.

The Doctor did, taking his lovely Rose in his arms and kissing her tenderly.

Everyone in attendance stood and clapped, cheering the couple that had been through so much—her mother’s disapproval of the age difference and the Doctor being so injured at Canary Wharf that he had required massive facial reconstructive surgery. But now they were married and happy and ready to move on with their lives.

Rose turned and hugged Martha. “I’m so glad you managed to quell your desire for surprises,” she whispered in her ear.

Martha pulled back, smiling. “Anything for you.”

The Doctor turned back to take Rose’s arm and lead her back up the aisle. She smiled and waved to their friend, Jack, who had tears in his eyes as he clapped and whooped for them. Standing beside him was Suzie, who worked with Jack’s friend Owen and had been instrumental with helping them arrange for the Doctor to be away from his practice for their honeymoon.

They paused halfway up the aisle as they heard singing. They looked up to see curtains being drawn back from beside the antique organ. A choir dressed in black and white stood there, singing.

Jack grinned and pulled a microphone from who knows where and began singing _All You Need Is Love_. He was joined by the choir, the string quartet and then by an entire brass section erupting from the congregation.

“Did you arrange this?” the Doctor whispered softly in Rose’s ear.

She shook her head, laughing with joy. She turned to look at Martha, who shrugged even though she was beaming with joy as she videotaped the scene.  
****

Jack hurried through his front door, wanting to check on Estelle before going to the reception. He didn’t want to leave her alone for too long if she was feeling as awful as she had protested she was.

He paused halfway through the living room as his younger brother, Gray, stepped into the room.

“Oh, hello. What the hell are you doing here?” Jack asked, smiling. He didn’t get to spend nearly as much time with his brother as he would have liked.

“I, um, stopped by to borrow some of your People on Planes CDs. My ex nicked mine,” he said.

“Ah. My lovely wife was able to let you in, then?” Jack asked. He hoped that meant she was feeling well enough to accompany him to the reception. She had never really liked how close Jack was to the Doctor and Rose, though she did like them well enough.

“Yes,” Gray replied, hands shoved in his pockets.

“That’s my girl—always obliging a visitor. I just thought I’d pop in to check on her.”

“That’s good,” Gray said, avoiding his gaze.

Jack didn’t notice, he was steeling himself to bring up a difficult topic. “Listen, I think we should take Mom out to dinner for her birthday. She hardly gets to see you and I feel I’ve been a bad son this year for not pushing you more to visit.”

Gray nodded. “Yeah, yeah. That sounds great.”

“Hurry up, big boy!! I need you and demand to be shagged through the mattress at least twice before Jack gets home!” Estelle shouted from the bedroom.

Jack turned his head to look at the room, while Gray looked at his brother, at a loss for words.  
****

The reception was in high gear; everyone eating and laughing and dancing. Everyone but Suzie, who was huddled against the wall on her phone. Rose frowned slightly; she knew there was something going on in the other woman’s life, but she had hoped she would be able to enjoy herself this one night.

Rose’s attention was taken away be the sound of a child laughing. She turned to see her Doctor swinging her younger brother, Tony, up onto his shoulders and starting to dance around the room. He barely avoided a collision with a dark haired waitress, who gracefully switched her serving tray to her other hand before moving on.

Gina made her way through the room with the tray full of the ill-thought out shrimp and avocado hors d’oeuvres wrapped in bacon with saffron-infused cream cheese. She paused in front of the maid of honor.

“Tasty treat?” she asked.

Martha reached out before getting a good look. “Er, no, thank you,” she said.

Gina shrugged and moved on, past the tense-looking woman on the phone. She looked around, hoping to find a group that might polish off the tray so she could bring out something more appetizing. Good-looking men were more apt to stand and eat off your tray if you had something yummy to offer. And really, weren’t good-looking men the only reason for agreeing to waitress a reception?

She sighed, not finding her intended target, and turned to see a man standing alone to the side. An attractive man. _Bingo_.

“Tasty treat?” Gina asked.

“No, thank you,” the man said, not meeting her eye.

“I know. Bit dodgy, aren’t they? I mean, really. Saffron-infused cream cheese? What kitchen-challenged idiot came up with that? Sorry, I’m Gina. What do you do?”

“I’m a chef.”

“Really?” she replied, smiling brilliantly. “Do you do weddings?”

“Yes.”

“Well, they should have asked you to do this one,” she said, and winked in what she thought was a saucy manner.

“They did.”

“I wish you hadn’t turned them down. People might actually be eating then.”

“I didn’t.”

She laughed nervously and dove back into the crowd.

 _Fuck. I’m never getting laid again._  
****

Merlin and Arthur were standing around, waiting for the lighting to be re-set.

“I thought I’d never make it in with the traffic,” Arthur said.

“The tube was a nightmare. I had to sprint most of the way,” Merlin replied.

Arthur nodded.

The head tech came over to them. “Merlin, we need you to take your shirt off for the next part. Lighting and camera need to know when we’ll see nipple and when we won’t.”

“Oh, of course,” Merlin said, trying not to blush. Usually, he had to take off his shirt in front of women, not men like Arthur. “Well, at least it’s warm in here, eh?” 

Arthur laughed. “One time, I was standing in on this horrid swords and sorcery epic in Romania. Love scene in a freezing lake.”

“Er, sorry,” the head tech said, “but we’re in a hurry and still have to get the actors in.”

Merlin and Arthur nodded. Merlin turned his back to begin unbuttoning his shirt.

“Don’t worry,” Arthur said, “I won’t look until they tell me to.”

Merlin laughed nervously and Arthur fought the need to blush.

Merlin quickly stripped out of his shirt and resumed his position against the pillar. Arthur quickly got back into position behind him, pressing his hips against Merlin. He tried not to jolt when one of Arthur’s warm fingers brushed his bare side.

The head tech came back over. “And Anthony says he wants you to put your left hand on his chest,” he said to Arthur. “Make sure you frame the nipple with your fingers.”

“Oh, right,” Arthur said. He blew on his hand to warm it up before placing it against Merlin’s chest. “Wouldn’t want you to get a chill,” he said playfully, nerves cracking his voice.

Merlin laughed.

He carefully placed his index and middle fingers around Merlin’s nipple.

“Good. Now massage the nipple as you thrust,” the assistant director called out.

Arthur did as he was told, silently cursing his agent, Morgana, for getting him into this. “So…Junction 13 was a nightmare this morning, wasn’t it? Total gridlock.”

“I heard,” Merlin agreed, trying not to bite his lip at the sensations running through him.  
****

Mickey took a deep breath and looked out over the assembled mourners. He knew he had to do this; he had to be strong. Anything less and Myfanwy would come back and beat his chest with her tiny incorporeal fists.

“Myfanwy and I had a long time to prepare for this,” he began. “She made a lot of requests.” He smiled at the memory. She had made demands and he had acquiesced both because he loved her desperately and because she had the most effective boo-boo lip known to man.

“Some of her requests, for instance that I should bring a smoking hot date to the funeral, I’m sure she expected me to ignore. But there were others that she insisted upon. I tried to argue with her, saying it would be over my dead body. But she corrected me, saying, ‘No, Mickey, my love. Over _mine_.’ And everyone will tell you I haven’t the brain to argue with logic like that.”

He took a deep breath, fighting the sobs clawing in his chest. “So, as usual, my darling girl, and Andy’s loving mum, was right. So she’s going to say her good-bye to all of you now. Through the immortal genius of The Bay City Rollers,” he said, choking out a laugh. 

As the montage played, Mickey looked over to his towheaded stepson, who sat stoically, tears in his large eyes.

As Mickey helped carry the too-light casket out of the church, Tosh caught his eye, smiling encouragingly through her tears.  
***

 _Who on earth played The Bay City Rollers at a reception?_ Martha thought as she watched the dancing couples. 

She sat watching Rose and the Doctor dance, her video camera clasped loosely in her hands. It had been a long day and she was exhausted from watching her best friend marry the man she loved. She was shaken out of her reverie by Suzie pulling up a chair beside her.

“Do you love her?” Suzie asked.

“Wh-what?” Martha asked, startled.

“I just thought I’d ask the blunt question in case it was the right one and you needed someone to talk to,” she said. “Maybe no one had ever asked you about it, so you’ve never had anyone to talk to about it with. I know from unrequited love.”

“No. No, no, no. Absolutely not,” Martha replied, running a hand over her spiky bun.

Suzie nodded. “So, that’s a no, then.”

“Yes.” She laughed and looked around, desperate for another topic of conversation. “This DJ, what do you reckon? Worst in the history of ever?”

“I don’t know. My best friend got married and her DJ got drunk during the reception and began propositioning bridesmaids over the microphone.”

“No way!” Martha said.

Suzie nodded. “But, I think this guy hinges on the next song.” She eyed the large man in the Motorhead t-shirt.

“This one’s for the lovers,” the DJ said, before spinning _Puppy Love,_ to which some of the couples kept dancing.

“It’s official,” Martha said.

“Worst in the _world_ ,” Suzie agreed, watching the DJ dance soulfully to the song.  
****

Elle answered her phone. “Make it quick. I’m really busy.”

“I’ve figured out why I can’t find true love.”

Elle rolled her eyes and pushed aside the file she’d been reading. Her sister’s lovelorn rants needed her full attention; otherwise, she’d be agreeing to go on a trip to Prague. Again.

“Oh?” Elle replied. “And why is that?”

“English men. They’re all too stuck up and posh and in desperate need of having sticks removed from arses. I’m more attracted to men who are more relaxed and down to earth and enjoy a laugh. _American_ men, Elle. I need to go to America. I’d get a man right away with this accent. What do you think?”

“I think you’re insane.”

“But American men love cute British accents.”

“You don’t have a cute British accent. You have a weird Scottish-British-European mishmash accent,” Elle replied, rubbing the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger.

Gina snorted. “They won’t know the difference. I am _going_ to America.”

“Gina, I love you, but you are a delusional mug who can’t find a man because you’re too picky.”

“No. I am the goddess of sex.”

“Being able to bend over backwards and grab your ankles does not make you a sex goddess.”

“No, but the thing I do with my hips where I twist and squeeze does. I am going to America. I’ll send you a postcard,” she said, then hung up.

Elle closed her phone and sighed. She was so very glad this day was over.  
****

Dr. Owen Harper’s head snapped up as he heard the knock on his office door. He turned around quickly and caught his breath at the sight of Diane standing there in a pressed shirt and pleated skirt. It was almost as if she _knew_ what pleated skirts did to him. 

Diane was a competent receptionist for the small family practice, but he had to admit he hadn’t hired her for her skills alone. A man was entitled to a little eye candy, wasn’t he?

“Yes?” he managed to ask.

“Suzie’s on her way to see you.”

“Good. Good. So, are you settling in all right? Learning who to avoid and where everything is?”

“Yes. Everyone has been so helpful,” Diane replied.

Suzie hurried into the office. “Owen?”

“Suzie. Switch off your phone and have a seat,” he said as Diane left and closed the door behind her.

“Now,” he said after Suzie had sat down, “tell me how long you have been working here.”

“Two years, seven months, three days and—what?—two hours,” she said nervously as he sat across from her.

“And how long have you been in love with Tommy, our enigmatic pediatrician?”

Suzie laughed nervously. “Two years, seven months, three days and, I suppose, an hour and thirty minutes.”

“Thought so.”

“Do you think everybody knows?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think _Tommy_ knows?”

“Yes,” Owen said, his tone certain.

“Oh, that is _bad_ news,” she said, burying her face in her hands.

“Or, perhaps, maybe the time has come for you to do something about it.”

“Like what?” Suzie asked, her mind racing. She wasn’t good at this; wasn’t good at talking to men outside a professional venue. That was why she had studied pharmacology; she could lose herself in the science and only had to talk to people to explain dosages.

“Oh, ask him out for a drink and, after a few minutes, subtly drop into the conversation that you aren’t wearing knickers and studied to be a gymnast.”

Suzie gasped and Owen rolled his eyes, going for the fluffier option. “Or that you love him madly, want to get married and have dozens of ickle wittle babies.”

Suzie leapt to her feet. “You _know_ that?”

Owen stood up. “Yes. And so does Tommy. Think about it, for all our sakes. It’s Christmas.”

“Certainly, will do. Thanks, Owen.”

She opened the door and walked straight into Tommy, who was in the process of pushing his wire-framed glasses back up his nose.

“Hi, Suzie,” he said.

“Hi, Tommy,” she replied, then hurried past him. She stood just outside the closed office door, cringing. She tried to find her center of calm, but all she could hear was that damned _Christmas Is All Around_ song.

That, and her cell phone ringing.

She hurriedly opened it. “Hi, babe. Absolutely, how are you?”  
****

“Yes, boys and girls, that was the Christmas effort from the once great John Hart,” the DJ said into his microphone. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen and then rolled around in their own hubric filth for a while. I can safely put my hand on my heart and say that’s the worst record I have heard this century.”

He turned to look at his frantically waving intern. He narrowed his eyes to read the sign he was holding.

“And, coincidentally, I understand Mr. Hart is going to be on my friend Allen’s show in the next hour. Welcome back, John.”

John was sitting in the waiting area with Donna. He turned to glare at his manager, whom he knew would not let him go in and belt the twerp. He also knew he had no real reason to beat him—other than the fact that he made up the word “hubric”.

“Don’t worry about him; just charm through the interview,” Donna said quietly. Well, quietly for her. The entire waiting area still heard her.

“So, John, welcome back to the airwaves with your cover of _Love Is All Around_ ,” Allen said.

“Yes, except, we’ve replaced ‘love’ with ‘Christmas’,” John replied, leaning back in the chair. It had been a long time since he’d done an interview. He had almost missed it.

“Yes, um, is that an important message to you, John?”

Right, _almost_ missed it. Except for the ridiculous questions and the even more ridiculous answers he was expected to give. Fuck it, he’d tell the truth. At this point in his career, what did he have to lose?

“God, no. Christmas is a time for people with someone they love in their lives.”

“And that’s not you?” the DJ asked with false sympathy.

“That’s not me. When I was young and successful, I was greedy and foolish and now I’m left with no one, wrinkled and alone,” he said, then laughed.

“Wow, thank you, John.”

“What for?” John asked, ignoring Donna banging her head on the wall in the other room.

“For giving an honest answer. It’s not something we get here.”

“Ask me anything you like and I’ll tell you the truth.”

“Best shag you ever had?”

“The Jonas Brothers.”

“What?! Really?”

“No, no. They were rubbish,” John replied, chuckling. This was _fun_.

Allen did a fair impression of a guppy for a moment. “All right, then. Here’s one. How do you think the new record compares to your old classic stuff?”

“Oh, come on, Al. You know as well as I do that the record’s crap.” 

He studiously ignored Donna waving at him through the glass, then miming choking him, then miming removing important parts of his anatomy with what looked like a spoon.

“But,” John continued, “wouldn’t it be nice if number one this Christmas wasn’t some smug teenager, but an old three-time rehab drop-out searching for a comeback at any price? Come Christmas day, those teenage pop stars will be stretched out naked with a hot bird balancing on their balls and I’ll be stuck in a dingy flat with my manager, Donna, who is the loudest bird on the face of the planet, and not in the fun neighbors-banging-on-the-walls-and-ceiling-for-you-to-keep-it-down way.”

Donna turned purple. Allen looked to his producer to see if he was about to get sacked.

“We’ll be miserable because our fucking gamble didn’t fucking pay off.” John leaned forward closer to the microphone and dropped his voice to a seductive purr. “So, boys and girls, if you believe in Father Christmas the way your Uncle John does, buy my festering turd of a record and particularly enjoy our hubric crassness as we try to jam an extra syllable into the fourth line.”

“So, uh, here it is again. The dark horse for the Christmas number 1. Thank you, John.”

John turned and gave two cheesy thumbs-up to Donna, who put her face in her hands.

“After this,” Allen continued behind him, “the news. Is the new Prime Minister already in trouble?”

 ** _Four Weeks to Christmas_**  
“What’s next?” Rhys asked the men and women seated around the table. He was already feeling the headache starting at his temples and slowly moving forward to meet at the middle of his forehead. He was starting to get a small idea of why his predecessor had gassed his entire cabinet. A very small idea, but an idea nonetheless.

“The President’s visit,” Alex Bristow, the man to his left, replied.

“Ah, yes. I feel this is going to be a difficult visit,” he said. _And not just because my predecessor tried to assassinate his predecessor._

“There’s a strong feeling in the party that we mustn’t allow ourselves to be bullied the way past administrations were,” Alex said.

“Hear, hear,” the table agreed.

“This is our first important test. Let’s take a stand,” Alex continued.

“Yes, yes. I understand that, but I have decided not to. Not this time,” Rhys said. “We will, of course, try to be clever, but we can’t forget that America is the strongest country in the world. I am not going to act like a petulant child.” He paused to take a deep breath and press his hand to his stomach. He’d skipped breakfast.

“Who do you have to shag around here to get a cuppa and a biscuit?” he asked.

The group around him chuckled and hopefully missed the blush on his cheeks as Gwen came into the room with a tea and biscuit-laden cart.

“Right,” he said aloud, hoping that no one in the room knew him well enough to translate that into the intended ‘bugger’.  
****

Gwen took a deep breath as she knocked on the door of Rhys’—the Prime Minister’s—office. She hadn’t seen him since he had given her that funny look when she had brought tea into the cabinet meeting.

“Come on in,” Rhys said in response to the knock.

She let herself in, carefully closing the door behind her. She knew that if she left it open for even a moment, people would swarm through, hoping to get a moment of Rhys’ time. She looked at him, then quickly darted her eyes down to her tray. He looked scrumptious, his hair all ruffled and his tie loose against the carefully pressed shirt.

She handed him a thick file. “These just came through for you.”

“Uh huh,” Rhys said, unable to think coherently. He had been staring at files and reports in stark black and white for hours, and now here she was in a lovely red sweater that showed just the hint of clavicle.

“And tea,” she said, setting it on his desk.

“Fantastic. Thank you.”

She clutched her empty tray to her chest. “I was hoping you would win. Not that working for the other bloke wouldn’t have been nice. But it’s better to be working for a fellow Welshman. This way, I can give you the good, chocolate biscuits.”

Rhys laughed. “Thank you, Gwen.”

She smiled over her shoulder as she left.

Rhys dropped his head to his desk and rapped it against it a few times. “Get a hold of yourself, man! You’re the bloody prime minister!”

He bounced his head on the desk a few more times before returning to his files. Maybe he could numb his brain with more numbers.  
****

Merlin was sitting astride Arthur’s hips, completely bollocking naked. All right, completely bollocking naked except for the vanity patch. He had his gaze fixed on the painting on the wall across from him as he rocked against Arthur. He couldn’t look down at Arthur and remain professional. He should have known better than to agree to this; he was a perfect body double under most circumstances. But he should have known agreeing to double in a film about gay courtiers in the court of Henry VIII would be his undoing. Of _course_ they would give him a gorgeous co-double like Arthur. Because the universe hated him. He bet his agent, J.H. Lezard, was laughing his scaly arse off.

“So, what do you reckon of our new Prime Minister?” Arthur asked.

Merlin looked down in surprise, blushed, then looked back up. “I like him. I can’t understand why he’s not married, though.”

“Oh, you know the type. Probably married to his job.”

Merlin smiled. “Yeah, or gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous.”

Arthur swallowed a moan. He wanted Merlin to talk to him so he could keep his mind off of how good the other man felt on top of him. He hadn’t expected his tongue to take that detour without the permission of his brain.

“Right, Arthur? We need you to put your hands on his hips for us,” the head tech called out.

Arthur did as he was asked, trying not to squeeze too hard or trace his thumbs over Merlin’s sharp hipbones.

“No, that’s not going to work. Merlin, lean down closer so your chests are pressed together and Arthur, put your hand on his arse.”

Merlin, trying desperately to hold onto his professionalism, did as he was told, placing one hand on the bed to balance himself as he pressed against Arthur.

“I have to say, it’s a real pleasure to work with someone I can actually talk to,” Arthur said.

Merlin smiled. “Oh, thank you. Er, you, too. Or, me, too. Well—”

“I get it,” Arthur replied, smiling.

“All right, then. Merlin, if you could just start moving again.”

Merlin nodded and thrust forward, narrowly missing braining himself on Arthur’s forehead.

“Er…”

Arthur tilted his head, pressing it against Merlin’s shoulder.

“Perfect!” the head tech called.  
****

“Exciting news!” Gina said as Elle drove her to work.

“Oh, what’s that?” Elle replied, her mind on the traffic up ahead.

“ _I_ bought a ticket to _America_. I’m off in three weeks.”

“No!” Elle said, turning to look at her younger sister.

“Yes! To a fantastic place called _South Dakota._ ”

“No. Are you completely out of your mind?”

“Nope. Here comes the sex goddess.”

“Gina, there are a few hot blokes in America, I’ll grant you. But most of them are taken or want rich, gorgeous women who want nothing more than to be a trophy.”

“ _You_ are wrong. And possibly jealous. No, yes. Jealous and wrong. You should come with me.”

“I have a real job. A career.”

“I see. You’re in love with Rhys. I thought so, after how closely the two of you worked on that campaign.”

“I am not in love with Rhys!”

“Oh. One of the cabinet, then?”

“Do you want to walk to work?”

Gina peered out the view screen.

“With this traffic? Absolutely,” she said, then climbed out of the car.  
****

Owen paced in his office, trying not to stare at Diane’s receding hemline. She stood waiting, steno pad in one hand and pen pressed against her bottom lip.

“Right. The block Christmas party. Not my favorite night of the year,” he said. Tosh owned a small computer software company that had the space above the practice. Every year, her company and his practice had their Christmas do together. Owen was all for promoting business, but he hated the annual party.

“This year, it’s our turn to plan it. Rather, you’re going to have to plan and organize it,” Owen said.

“Tell me.”

“It’s basic, really. Find a venue, over-order on the drinks, mope by the guacamole and advise the girls to stay away from Tosh’s accountant unless they want their arses pinched.”

“Wives and family, all that?” Diane asked.

“Yes. But no children. Wives, girlfriends, etc,” he replied. He took a close look at her and realized his mouth had engaged before his brain. “You don’t have some six-foot ripped Adonis of a boyfriend you’re bringing, do you?”

“No. I’ll just be hanging around the mistletoe, hoping to be kissed.”

“Really. Huh.”

She smiled and left the office.

He stared after her, knowing he should feel guilty, but he didn’t.  
****

Tosh unwrapped her scarf from her neck as she followed Mickey into his house. Myfanwy had been her best friend and she had come to love her new husband through her. So when he had asked her to come over and give him a hand with his stepson, Andy, she could do nothing but rush over as soon as she was able.

“He spends all his time in his room. He’ll be up there for hours,” Mickey said as he flung his keys down.

“There’s nothing unusual about that. My horrid son—”

“Sweet little Harp?”

“Sweet little Harp,” she confirmed as they hung up their coats, “stays in his room for hours these days.”

“Yeah, but, Tosh, this is all the time. I’m afraid there’s something really wrong. It’s clear he misses his mum but…I mean, he could be injecting heroin into his eyeballs for all I know.”

“I’m pretty sure you don’t inject drugs into your eyeballs,” Tosh said, giving him a hug.

Mickey returned the hug and sighed. “All right, maybe not the eyeballs. Into his veins?”

She pulled back and smiled. “Between his toes. Definitely.”

“Some moral support you are.” He sighed. “He used to talk to his mum about everything and I don’t know what to do. It seems ‘stepfather’ means whole new things it never did before. Places limits I didn’t expect.”

Tosh put her hand on his and squeezed. “Listen, it’s going to be a totally shit time for both of you. You just have to be patient. And perhaps sweep the room for needles.”

Mickey nodded absently. “And when he comes out of his room, it’s clear he’s been crying,” he said and then broke down himself.

Tosh took him into her arms and rocked him as though he were one of her children. 

“It’s such a ridiculous waste. It’s ruined Andy’s life as well and I don’t know what to do.”

Tosh pulled back and put her hands on his face. “Get a grip. Talk to him. No one likes a sissy. No woman will ever shag you until your toes can’t uncurl again if you cry all the time.”

Mickey smiled. “Yes, absolutely. Very helpful.”

Tosh smacked him on the arm. “That’s what I’m here for.”

Mickey nodded.

“All right. If we’re past this crisis, I have a first lobster costume to construct.”

Mickey looked at her. “I don’t even want to know, do I?”

“Oh, your time will come,” she said before giving him a kiss on the cheek and heading out.

Andy came down from his room an hour after Tosh had left.

“You just missed Tosh. She said to tell you hello.”

Andy shrugged.

“How about a walk?” he asked.

Andy shrugged again, but went to the hall to get his coat.

They walked to the Thames and found a bench, settling in and slouching down into their coats against the cold air.

“So, what’s the problem?” Mickey asked, trying to figure out whether or not he should put his arm around the boy’s shoulders.

Andy took a sip of his hot cocoa.

“Come on, tell me everything. Is it just Mum or is it something else? Maybe school? Are you being bullied?”

Andy just looked at him with his wide, dark eyes.

“Is it something worse?”

Andy looked down at his drink.

“Can you give me a hint?”

“You really want to know?”

“I really want to know.”

“Even if you can’t do anything to help?” Andy asked in a small voice.

“Even if that’s the case, yeah.”

“Okay. Well, the truth is, actually. I’m in love.”

“Sorry?” Mickey asked, completely gobsmacked. Overwhelming grief, he had expected. Shooting heroin between his toes (thank you, Tosh, for that imagery), he was prepared for. But this?

“I know I should be thinking about Mum all the time,” Andy continued, “and I am. But the truth is I’m in love. I was before she died and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Mickey let out a relieved laugh. “Aren’t you a bit young to be in love?”

Andy furrowed his brow at him. “No.”

Mickey straightened. “No, right, of course. Well, I am a little relieved.”

“Why?”

“Because I thought it would be something worse.” _Don’t mention heroin_ , he thought as he ruffled Andy’s hair.

“Worse than the total, visceral and uncontrollable agony of being in love?” Andy asked.

Mickey thought about it and slumped on the bench. “No, you’re right. Total agony.”  
****

Suzie sat at her desk, touching up her make-up. She had worked late, hoping to wait out the rest of the staff until she was alone with Tommy. If she was going to be shot down, even gently, she didn’t want witnesses.

She glanced over at the desk Tommy used when he was working on his reports and charting. Tommy turned off his desk lamp and walked toward her. She sat up straighter and held her breath.

Tommy paused at her desk. He looked at her for a moment before saying, “Good night, Suzie.”

“Good night, Tommy,” she replied.

He nodded and headed out.

She was just about to call after him, to make that offer of a drink, when her mobile rang.

She picked it up, wincing. “Yeah, absolutely, babe. Free as a bird. Fire away.”  
****

Jack carefully crossed the dark room, hoping he remembered the layout of the Welsh cottage well enough to not kneecap himself on the furniture. He reached the windows and threw the curtains back, then opened the windows to let the clear, crisp winter sun into the cabin.

He walked back to his desk, which faced the now open windows, and sat down at his typewriter.

“Alone again,” he said. “Naturally.”  
****

Rhys finished his platitudes with the representative for some reform or other and escorted him to the door. As the man left, Gwen slipped in, today wearing a fetching silk button-down in a deep forest green.

“Hello, Gwen.”

“Sir,” she said, stepping past him to set the files in her hands on his desk. She turned quickly to head back out, hoping to forestall any foot-in-mouth escapades today. She had one of those big signs you see in warehouses stuck in her head: **5 days without foot in mouth!**

“Gwen,” Rhys said just as she reached the door.

“Yes, sir?” she said, turning back.

“I’m beginning to feel uncomfortable about us working in such close proximity every day—”

_Oh God, I’m being sacked!_

“—with me knowing so little about you. It seems elitist and wrong.”

“Well, there’s not much to know,” she said, relieved.

“Well, where do you live?”

“Wandsworth. The dodgy end.”

“Ah. My sister lives in Wandsworth. Which, exactly, is the dodgy end?”

“Right at the end of the high street. Harris Street.”

Rhys whistled. “That is the dodgy end.”

Gwen laughed.

Rhys mentally smacked himself up the back of the head even as he said his next sentence. “And you live there with your…husband? Boyfriend? Three illegitimate, but charming, children?”

Gwen shut down the rush of heat in her chest. _He’s just being friendly. He’s a good boss; wants to know about the people close—_ working _close—to him. He’s not flirting._

“No, actually,” she replied. “I’ve just left my boyfriend, so I’m at my sister’s.”

“Ah. Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m better off. He said I was getting fat.”

“I beg your pardon?” Gwen was healthy and beautiful. Fat? Not on your life!

“He said no bloke was going to fancy a girl with thighs the size of tree trunks.” She paused. “Not a nice guy, actually, in the end.”

Rhys let out a soft, incredulous laugh. 

Gwen nodded and turned to leave.

“You know,” Rhys said as she reached the door, “as Prime Minister, I could just have him killed.”

Gwen laughed. “Thank you, sir. I’ll think about it.”

“See that you do. The SAS lads are absolutely charming. Ruthless, trained killers are just a phone call away. We’ll have him buried under the Millennium Centre in no time.”

Gwen smiled and left the office.

Rhys rubbed his hand over his face after she left. Shameless. That was absolutely shameless flirting.

“Oh, God.” He turned to look at the portrait of Margaret Thatcher. “Did you have this problem? Of course you did, you saucy minx.”  
****

Mickey paced back and forth in his living room. This had been far harder than he thought it would be.

“So, we can crack this,” he said to Andy. “You must remember I was a young man once, too. So, come on. It’s someone at school, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And what does she…he?…think about you?”

“ _She_ doesn’t even know my name,” Andy replied, forlorn. “And even if she did, she’d despise me. She’s the coolest girl in school and everyone worships her because she’s heaven.”

“Good. Good,” Mickey said, walking over to sit on the couch next to his stepson. He tilted his head to look at Andy. “So, basically, you’re fucked, aren’t ya?”

 ** _Three Weeks to Christmas_**  
John Hart waved at the studio audience, completely in his element. No one knew how to work a crowd like he did. So what if they were teeny boppers (he quashed the thought that some were certainly old enough to be his offspring)? He would convert an entirely new generation to the wonder that was John Hart.

“Hi there and welcome back,” Ant said as they came back from a break. “John, it looks like your Christmas competition is going to be Azul.”

“Yes, I saw them on your show last week and they weren’t very nice about my record,” John replied.

 _Please don’t say something that will get you sued. Please don’t say something that will get you sued,_ Donna prayed from her place near the cameraman.

“No, they weren’t,” Dec replied. “Those little scamps.”

“But very, very talented musicians,” John said solemnly.

 _This is why I still work for him_ , Donna thought, smiling at her client.

“Yeah. John, I understand you have a prize for our competition winners,” Ant said.

“Yes, I have, Ant or Dec. It’s a personalized felt pen!”

“Great!” Dec said.

“Aw, it’s brilliant. It even writes on glass!”

_Oh, no. Oh, fuck me running._

“For instance,” John continued, “if you’ve got a framed picture, like this one of Azul, you can just write on it.” He turned to the picture he’d indicated and wrote, ‘We’ve got teeny ickle cocks,’ on it.

Ant coughed. “Er, we have a lot of younger kids watching.”

_Shut up, John!_

“Oh, right,” John said. He put on his Serious Face. “Here’s an important message for all you kids watching. Don’t buy drugs.”

_Oh, thank you._

“Become a pop star and they give them to you for _free_!” he finished gleefully.

_I am smothering you in your sleep!_

“All right, that’s all the time we have,” Ant and Dec quickly took over, going to commercial.

Donna banged her head against a nearby monitor.  
****

Martha was on the phone with Rose.

“Just a minute,” she said, noticing a gaggle of schoolgirls in the gallery. “Excuse me, it’s not funny, it’s art. Take a class and then come back,” she said to the girls.

The girls glared at her, then took their leave.

“All right,” she said to Rose, “let’s say Thursday, my place?”

“Great. But for now I’ve got the Doctor on the line. Can I patch you through? He wants to ask you a favor.”

Martha sighed, then pasted on a smile Rose couldn’t see. “Of course.”

“Thanks and be nice.”

“I’m always nice.”

“You know what I mean. Be friendly.”

“I’m always—”

“Martha?” the Doctor’s voice cut in.

“Doctor. How was the honeymoon?”

“Splendid, splendid. I never did get to thank you for that lovely send-off.”

“Oh, you know, anything for Rose. So, what can I do for you?”

“It’s just a small thing,” the Doctor said. “I’ve just looked at the wedding video and it’s a complete disaster. My kilt comes out in all the wrong colors. My family will have my head if they see that!”

“I’m sorry,” Martha said.

“Only, I remember you taking an awful lot of video the whole day and I just wondered if I could look at your stuff.”

“Oh, no, I mean, I really didn’t take that much.”

“Please. All I want is one shot of me in my family’s tartan to send to my mum and dad.”

“Okay, I’ll take a look. But to be honest, I’m pretty sure I wiped it so don’t get your hopes up. Sorry, must go,” she said, then hung up.

The Doctor stared at his phone. He knew Martha wasn’t overly fond of him, but he hadn’t expected quite that response to his request.  
****

Owen sat on the edge of Suzie’s desk.

“So, how goes it with our matchmaking plan? Progress?” he asked.

“Fuck all. And that’s all it will ever be because he’s too good for me,” she said.

“How true.”

They engaged in a friendly slap-match until—

“Of course, your mobile,” Owen said, standing and walking away.

“Hey babe, how are you doing?” she said into her phone.

Owen approached Diane’s desk. She was wearing low-cut white cashmere today. 

“How goes the event planning?” he asked.

Diane smiled through red painted lips. “Not bad. I think I’ve found a venue through my friend.”

“Oh? Where?”

“An art gallery.” She leaned forward, propping her arms on her desk. “Full of dark corners for dark deeds.”

“Oh. Right. Well, I suppose I should take a look at it.”

She sat back in her chair, spreading her legs lightly. “Oh, you really should.”

Owen swallowed hard and walked into his office.  
****

Jack sat at his typewriter, banging away at the keys in his signature, never-actually-have-his-fingers-on-the-proper-keys manner. The typewriter was an antique. His agent kept getting after him about upgrading to a shiny computer, but Jack had always been drawn to the classics.

A knock at the door disturbed his thought process. He quickly finished the sentence before going to answer the door.

He opened it to find his nearest neighbor, Rhiannon, standing on the front step.

“Shw mae, Rhiannon,” Jack said.

“Shw mae, Jack. Welcome back,” Rhiannon replied, smiling. Jack’s Welsh was atrocious at best, but he did try to manage the basic pleasantries. “Did you bring Miss Estelle with you this time?”

Jack’s mouth tightened briefly before he covered it with a smile. “No. Change of situation, so it’s just me.”

“Oh. Am I sad or not sad?” Rhi asked, her Welsh accent rounding her vowels. 

“I think you’re not surprised.”

“And you’ll be staying here until Christmas?”

“Yes.”

Rhi’s eyes lit up. “That is good news. I’ve found you the perfect person to clean for you!” She turned to face her car and waved over a handsome young man. “Jack, this is Ianto.”

Jack was at a loss for words for a moment. The man was beautiful. “Er, yes. Shw mae, Ianto.”

“Shw mae,” Ianto replied softly, his accent thicker than Rhi’s.

“I am very glad you’re here to help me out,” Jack said.

Ianto gave Rhiannon a puzzled look.

“Unfortunately, Ianto doesn’t speak English, Jack,” Rhi explained.

“Oh. Well…” he looked helplessly at Rhiannon.

Rhi smiled at him. “A smile and a handshake will do just fine, Jack.”

Jack held out his hand and Ianto took it, smiling shyly as he shook the older man’s hand.

“Ianto is my younger brother. He’s staying with us for a bit. If you’ll just show him what you need done, I guarantee you’ll be impressed with his level of tidiness,” she said, grinning.

Ianto shot his sister a look that said even though he didn’t know exactly what she was saying, he was pretty sure she was poking fun at him.

“Of course,” Jack replied. He held his arm out for Ianto to enter the cottage.

“And if you could give him a ride to mine when he’s done? The kids will be getting home soon,” Rhi said.

“No problem,” Jack replied. Rhi was his closest neighbor, but she was still about fifteen miles away.

Rhi called out to Ianto, speaking in rapid and flowing Welsh. Ianto nodded and turned back to his survey of the living room.

“I told him you’d bring him home when he was done. I’m afraid I have to run now, so you’ll have to get by with just showing him what needs done,” Rhi explained.

“Of course. Rhi, why doesn’t he speak English, like you do?”

Rhi’s eyes darkened and she blushed. “Canary Wharf.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “He was there?”

Rhi nodded. “Trapped in the rubble for a day before they found him. He had massive head trauma and was in a coma for three weeks. When he finally woke up, he could only speak Welsh.” She smiled at Jack’s confused look. “Welsh was our first language; Ianto didn’t learn English until he was five. The doctors said he might wake up one day and remember it. Or he may have to learn it all over again.”

“Thank you for telling me, Rhi.”

“Just try not to treat him too differently, yeah? He won’t appreciate pity.”

“I’m all out of pity, Rhi.”

She smiled and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, Jack.”

Jack blushed slightly and watched her leave, then turned back to Ianto. He tamped down on the desire that burst through as he really looked at the younger man. He was gorgeous, but there was a vulnerability about him that brought up Jack’s protective instincts. Now that Jack understood from whence that vulnerability came, he would have to be careful in how he reacted to it.

“Right,” Jack began as he caught up with Ianto, “cleaning products are in here,” he said, leading the way to his cleaning cupboard.

Hours later, Jack sat in awkward silence with Ianto as he drove the younger man to Rhiannon’s. Tired of the silence, Jack tried pointing out mountains he found pretty and meadows he liked in horribly disjointed Welsh.

Ianto looked at him as though he were suddenly frightened that he would be dinner. Or at the very least a missing person statistic.

When Jack couldn’t get more than a confused look from the younger man, he gave up and turned on the radio. He smiled softly when Ianto started to hum along with the music.

“I like this tune. It’s a cover, though. But it may be one of the few that tops the original. I know, I know, it’s blasphemy to say that, but there are some things that can be improved upon. Not a lot, mind you. Like Reese’s peanut butter cups. Those are the best. But this song needed some work. There’s that weird key change that just kills you unless you’ve had your nuts removed. You have to hit it just right,” Jack said, then made a weird noise as he tried to mimic it.

Ianto swallowed a chuckle and turned to look out the window so Jack wouldn’t see him smiling.

“Right. Shut up, Jack,” Jack said to himself. But he was silently pleased to have gotten a smile out of the other man.  
****

The American president’s motorcade pulled up in front of Number 10 to some applause and much questioning from the assembled press. The thin gentleman, who favored cravats over ties, solemnly got out of his car and stared with piercing eyes at the crowd. After a moment, he gave a short wave before hurrying to the door to meet Rhys. They paused for a few quick photographs before heading inside.

“Come on through,” Rhys said as they passed the first round of staff. “So sorry your wife couldn’t make it this trip.”

“Yes, well, Abby Dawn has her charities and she just couldn’t miss a dinner being thrown in her honor. I must say, they all just seem to fall into her shadow at those celebrations,” President Bilis Manger said. “Of course, I’m sure she’d have been lonely had she accompanied me,” he continued with a calculating look.

“Yes. Pathetic isn’t it? Just never been able to tie a girl down. I guess politics and dating don’t really go together.”

“Really? I’ve found the opposite, myself,” Manger replied as they headed for the staircase up to Rhys’s receiving rooms.

“Well, the difference is you are charismatic. I look more like my Aunt Mildred the older I get,” Rhys replied, momentarily thrown off by Manger’s reply. He decided to switch topics. “Very jealous of your plane by the way.”

Manger chuckled. “Yes, we really like that thing.”

“Ah, hello, Gwen,” Rhys said as she passed them coming down the stairs.

“Sir,” she replied, nodding.

“Hello. How is your day?” Bilis said to her.

She smiled shyly and continued on her way.

“Excellent,” Bilis said to her back. He turned and gave Rhys a look. “Well, that was a pretty little morsel there. I presume you hired her for her…assets?”

“Er, yes. She’s terrific. It’s just up this way,” he replied, picking up the pace so the other man wouldn’t notice the shiver that ran through him.

Rhys spent the next few hours watching his emissaries argue with President Manger and his staff over the policies they had hoped to discuss and alter. Rhys couldn’t shake the feeling that his reaction to President Manger and his opinions were not entirely based upon the man’s rhetoric. Although he would admit the American’s rhetoric was condescending and abominable. Once Alex and the others finally gave up, Rhys dismissed them and asked Bilis to join him in the library for a private meeting.

“Well, now. That was an interesting day,” Rhys said, sitting across from Manger.

“Sorry about the firm line. But I felt tiptoeing around it was a waste of time. No point telling you one thing and then lying to you for the next four years. I mean, I have plans and I intend to see them through, come hell or high water.”

“Absolutely understandable,” Rhys said, nodding. _You bloody pillock_. “There is one final thing I’d like to talk to you about. It’s rather close to my heart. If you’ll just give me a moment,” he said, rising to dash off to his office. 

“I will give you anything you ask for.”

Rhys turned to look at him in shock.

“As long as it is not something I do not want to give,” he finished with a reptilian smile.

Rhys tried to smile back. He passed Gwen on his way to his office; she was taking a bottle of port into the library for them. Rhys shook himself, trying to dispel the feeling of…ooginess…he got from the president.

He quickly found the file on his desk—right where Gwen had left it for him—and walked back to the library, reading as he went. He pushed the door open to find Manger with his face in Gwen’s neck and a hand on her cheek. Gwen stepped quickly away upon Rhys’ entrance. He barely had time to register the horrified look on her face before Manger spoke up.

“This is wonderful port.”

Rhys stared.

“I’ll, um, I’ll be going, then,” Gwen said, staring down at her feet as she walked quickly toward Rhys and the door.

“Oh, Gwen,” Manger called.

Gwen paused at the door and past a smile on her face.

“I look forward to seeing a lot more of you as our two great countries strive to come together.”

“Thank you, sir,” Gwen said. She gave Rhys an apologetic look before hurrying out of the room.

Rhys stared hard at the president, meeting his eyes. In the other man’s cold gaze he saw a challenge and the knowledge that _he_ thought he was holding all the cards.

Rhys decided in that moment that his speech for the next day’s press conference was going to undergo a few rewrites tonight.  
****

Camera bulbs flashed furiously as the two heads of state entered the room and took their places at the podium.

“Um, yes, Richie,” Rhys said, pointing to a young journalist on the left.

“Mr. President, has it been a good visit?” Richie asked.

Manger smiled, his eyes finding Gwen on the side of the room. “Yes, it’s been very satisfactory.”

Gwen swallowed the bile in her throat and lowered her gaze.

“We got what we came for and our special relationship is still _very_ special,” Manger finished.

“And Prime Minister?” Richie asked before sitting down.

“I love that word: ‘relationship’. It covers all manner of sins, doesn’t it? I fear this has become a bad relationship,” Rhys said, smiling.

Elle, standing with the cabinet, pinched her arm to make sure this wasn’t one of her press conference nightmares. Nope, wide awake. Damn.

“A relationship based upon the President taking what he wants and casually ignoring all those things that really matter to…Britain,” he continued, wincing internally at almost saying “me”. He mustn’t look at Gwen. _Look at Elle, who looks as though she wants to stick you with hot pokers_ , he thought.

“We may be a small country,” Rhys said, “but we are a great one, too. The home of Shakespeare, Churchill, The Beatles, Sean Connery, Harry Potter, the Cardiff Blues.”

He paused for the crowd’s chuckles.

“David Beckham’s right foot. David Beckham’s left foot, come to that.”

The laughter increased as President Manger looked a bit bewildered.

“But a friend who bullies us is no longer a friend. And since bullies only respond to strength, from now onward, I will be prepared to be much stronger,” he said, watching Elle smile at him. Perhaps she wouldn’t have him poked, then.

He turned to look at Manger. “And the president should be prepared for that.”

The room erupted in questions from the press core. Gwen smiled to herself, then looked down, afraid that Rhys had perhaps made those comments because of what he thought she had done.

President Manger left immediately after the press conference, leaving Rhys to have a powwow with his cabinet, staff and a giddy Elle. Their conversation about spinning this into propaganda material was interrupted by his secretary, Sarah, telling him his sister was on the line.

Elle nodded before turning to corner Alex.

“Yes, I’m very busy and important, how can I help you?” Rhys said into the phone.

“Have you gone _completely_ insane?” Tosh asked.

“You can’t be sensible all the time.”

“You bloody well can if you’re the Prime Minister.”

Elle tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to Alex, who needed to speak with him.

“Oh, very sorry. Prince William is on the other line; wants to know if I’ll go clubbing with him.”

“No, he isn’t!” Tosh protested.

“Call you back!”

“No, you won’t! Wanker,” she said to a dead line. She closed the phone and set it aside.

“The problem with being the sister of the Prime Minister is that it does put your life in a rather harsh perspective,” she said as she turned to face her husband.

Owen was sitting in his favorite armchair, a budget report open on his lap. He looked up, expecting a rant.

“What did my brother do today? He stood up for his country. What did I do? I stayed home from work to make a papier-mâché lobster head,” she said as she knelt at the coffee table.

“What is this we’re listening to?” Owen asked. 

“Joni Mitchell,” Tosh replied, picking up a pair of scissors.

“I can’t believe you still listen to Joni Mitchell.”

“I love her. And true love lasts a lifetime,” she said, smiling at him. “Joni Mitchell is the woman who taught your cold English wife how to feel.”

“Did she? I must write her a letter thanking her some time,” Owen replied drily. 

Tosh snorted. “Now, which doll should we give to Katie’s little friend Jasmine? The doll that looks like a transvestite or the one that looks like a dominatrix faerie?” she asked, holding up two boxes.  
****

Back at Number 10, Rhys began undoing his tie while he listened to what the local DJs (his favorite way of taking the pulse of the people) were saying about the day’s events.

“It’s almost enough to make you feel patriotic,” the evening DJ said. “So here’s one for our arse-kicking Prime Minister. A golden oldie to get your blood pumping.”

Rhys found himself tapping his foot to the beat. He had always had a soft spot in his heart for The Pointer Sisters. He started bobbing his head as he tore the tie free from his collar and flung it onto a chair. His suit jacket followed quickly, a flick of his wrist sending it gracefully onto the chair.

He gave a little twist to his hips. Yeah, that felt good. What the hell? He was all alone here, right? He gave into the impulse and began dancing. He unbuttoned the collar of his shirt as he danced out of the room.

He found himself mouthing the lyrics as he made his way down the stairs, his feet moving in steps he thought he’d forgotten _years_ ago. He had just backed into the main room outside his office, executing a kicky little backwards turn, when he heard a cough.

Rhys spun around to see Elle standing there, a file in one hand and an eyebrow raised.

“I think we should see if we can move the Japanese ambassador’s meeting to four o’clock tomorrow.”

“Of course, Prime Minister.”

“Very good,” he replied, then put his hands in his pockets and walked out of the room whistling.

 ** _Two Weeks to Christmas_**  
Jack was working at his typewriter as Ianto cleaned the room behind him. He had gotten used to the younger man’s presence. Ianto oftentimes blended in with the cottage so well that Jack almost forgot he was there.

Almost.

Then, Ianto would walk into a room and Jack would catch his scent. A mixture of fresh earth and warm sunlight and something spicy just underneath. Jack never smelled the products Ianto used while he cleaned; he only smelled Ianto.

Ianto suddenly appeared beside him, carefully setting a mug of coffee on the table near Jack’s elbow.

“Pasty?” Jack asked, holding the plate out to Ianto. 

_“No, thank you. If you saw my brother-in-law’s waistline, you’d understand_ ,” Ianto replied, shaking his head.

“Ah, well, more for me,” Jack said, setting the plate down. He picked up one of the pasties and ate half of it in one bite.

_Don’t go eating all those yourself, mind. You’re getting chubbier every day. Enjoying good Welsh cooking is one thing, eating your emotions is another.”_

“I’m just lucky I never put on any weight. It’s like my body froze at a certain time and just stays the same, no matter what,” Jack said around the second half of the pasty.

Jack’s phone ringing interrupted him. He groaned. It was either his mother, begging him to forgive Gray, or his publisher, begging him to get on his arse and finish the book already.

He answered the landline, but there was no one there and the phone kept ringing. 

“Mobile,” Jack said.

Ianto stepped forward to help him search for the phone. They both paused as Ianto accidentally brushed up against Jack’s body. Ianto shook his head quickly and wrapped his hand around the phone. He handed it to Jack with a smile.

Jack nodded, answering the phone. “Hi, Jackie. Nope, book’s coming along just fine. No, I don’t need…”

Ianto smiled as he cleaned up Jack’s crumbs as the other man walked out of the room.  
****

Jack stretched his arms out over his head, popping his back. Ah, that’s what he’d needed; a good, long stretch. He rolled his head around, then focused back on his typewriter. 

He had gotten an earful from Jackie yesterday, demanding that he e-mail her what he had done so far. He had gotten an _exasperated_ earful when he told her he didn’t have it in an e-mailable format. No one did exasperated like Jackie Tyler.

He shook his head, trying to re-focus himself. He stared out over the lake just beyond his back porch. He had never gone in the lake. He’d sat at the end of the pier watching the sun come up a time or two, but it was always too cold to venture into the lake. Maybe he should come here in the summer some time.

He shivered as the wind teased his hair, bringing him back to the present. He started hammering away at his keys.

Ianto watched Jack from the doorway. He had come to learn Jack’s body language—when he was hunched over like as he was today, he was having trouble forcing his muses to work. When he was bent over the typewriter as though he wanted to fold himself up inside it, it was a good writing day. Lately, there hadn’t been too many fold-up writing days. 

Ianto shook his head and walked over to the table that served as Jack’s outdoor writing desk with a fresh cup of coffee in his hand. He had discovered that Jack had a wondrous piece of coffee-making equipment in his kitchen that he had likely never used. He flushed as he recalled that he’d also discovered that Jack made beautiful noises in his throat as he drank Ianto’s coffee.

Ianto leaned over Jack to set the mug down. Jack turned, startled, and unleashed one of those dazzling smiles on him. Ianto smiled softly and picked up the empty mug, which was sitting on top of a stack of pages. The wind picked up the pages and started blowing them out toward the lake.

“Oh gods, that’s half the book!” Jack said, leaping to his feet.

Ianto, recognizing Jack’s tone and body language if not the words, leapt over the railing and ran down the pier.

Jack stood frozen for a moment, his horror at losing his work completely occluded by the lust shooting through him at the sight of Ianto leaping the railing. Jack climbed over the railing carefully, sucking in a breath as his crotch got a _little_ too close.

“No, leave them! It’s not worth it!” Jack yelled, following Ianto.

He stopped dead in his tracks as he realized Ianto was standing at the end of the pier, quickly but carefully shucking his clothes off.

“Sweet god,” Jack muttered. Ianto had a swimmer’s body—long and lean. He cringed slightly at the burn marks on his arm and the scars on his back, but thought they only made the younger man more attractive.

Jack nearly swallowed his tongue when Ianto bent over to shove his jeans off. He barely caught a glimpse of a tattoo on Ianto’s hip, peeking up over the edge of his boxer briefs, before Ianto dove into the water.

 _“Fuck, it’s cold_!” Ianto shouted as he surfaced.

“And now he’ll think I’m a total twat if I don’t go in, too,” Jack said to himself, trying to run and gracefully get out of his layers of clothes. He made it about three steps before tumbling off the pier into the water.

“Fuck, it’s freezing!” Jack yelled.

Ianto was half-swimming, half-walking through the water trying to grab loose pages.

_“This had better be good, Jack.”_

“Really, it’s not worth it,” Jack said, spluttering. 

_“I really don’t want to drown saving some shit my niece could have written.”_

“It’s not like it’s Shakespeare.”

_“Ugh. What kind of idiot doesn’t make copies?”_

“I really need to start doing copies. There had better not be eels in here. I hate eels—even jellied ones.”

_“Try not to disturb the eels. It can be unpleasant.”_

“What the hell was that?” Jack yelled as something swam around his ankle. He looked over at Ianto, who was valiantly holding back a smile. It only took him a moment to begin laughing himself.

“Come on,” Jack said waving his hand and pointing. “We should get out before we both get pneumonia.”

Fifteen minutes later, Ianto was sitting in Jack’s living room wrapped up in one of Jack’s blankets. He was sitting in Jack’s desk chair, waiting for his clothes to dry. When Jack had made his epic sprawl into the water, he had knocked Ianto’s clothes in as well.

Jack handed a cup of coffee to Ianto with a small smile. “I’m sure it’s not up to yours, but…”

Ianto took it, smiling at him. He carefully covered his grimace as he tasted the weak coffee.

“Thank you so much,” Jack said, hoping Ianto would understand the sentiment if not the words.

Ianto nodded.

“I know, I’ll name one of the characters after you,” Jack said, smiling brightly.

_“Maybe you can name one of the characters after me. Or, give me 50% percent of the profits.”_

“Or, I could just give you, oh, 5% of the profits.”

 _“What kind of book is it? Romance_ ,” he said, hugging himself. “ _Or maybe a comedy._ ” He laughed a loud, fake laugh.

When Jack just looked at him, thinking perhaps Ianto had hit his head. Ianto picked up some of the pages and waved them at him.

“Oh! What kind of book is it! It’s um…” Bollocks! Why couldn’t he remember the word for crime? “You know, ee, ee, ee,” he said, making a stabbing motion with his hand.

 _“Ah! A crime thriller!”_ He pretended to bite his nails.

“Yes, yes. A bit scary. Well, mainly how scarily bad the writing is.”

They sat staring at each other with smiles on their faces. This is the longest actual conversation they’ve managed to have.

 _“Well, I’d, um, better get back to work. And then, you can drive me home, yeah?_ ” Ianto asked, using his hands to make their agreed-upon sign for driving.

“Yes, yes. Your clothes should be dry by now.”

Ianto stood up and set the coffee aside. He didn’t realize how close standing put him to Jack until he turned his head to look at him.

Jack sucked in a breath. “It’s my favorite time of day,” he said softly, “driving you home.”

 _“It’s the saddest part of my day, leaving you.”_ Ianto stared into Jack’s eyes, wishing desperately he could remember the English his doctors told him he had locked away.

“Right,” Jack said, reminding himself that the blanket and bedraggled look weren’t what made Ianto fragile. He tried to step out of Ianto’s way and they bumped a few times before he was able to let the younger man get past him.

Ianto couldn’t stop himself from looking back over his shoulder before he left the room.

Jack couldn’t stop himself from sneaking looks at Ianto as he drove him home. He was leaving soon, what could be the harm if he just leaned over and kissed him? If Ianto said no, he’d just have to suffer an unclean house. If he said yes—oh, if he said yes. He shook his head and refocused on the road ahead. He couldn’t do that. Ianto couldn’t be ready.

Ianto kept sneaking glances at Jack. He desperately wanted to kiss him. To cling to him and beg him to have patience, that he would be whole again soon. That Jack could help him be whole. But that wasn’t fair; he knew Jack was sad, and why. Rhi had explained to him about Jack’s wife. He wanted to comfort Jack; to let him know he didn’t deserve that.

Jack turned to look at Ianto again and caught the Welshman looking at him. Their eyes widened and they both turned away to look out the windshield.

 _Damn it_ , Jack thought.

 _Bugger_ , Ianto mouthed.  
****

Martha stood in her kitchen watching the morning news. She’d have to get to the gallery soon, but she knew she’d be unable to wave annoying children out of the place without killing them if she didn’t have her breakfast. Plus, John Hart was supposed to be coming up soon and she wanted to see this interview.

She gave the door a puzzled look when the doorbell rang. Who’d be coming to see her at this hour of the morning?

She hurried over to the door and threw it open, only to see the Doctor standing there, a brilliant grin on his face.

“Jelly baby?” he asked, holding out a bag.

“Er, no, thank you.”

“Just as well, you’d have broken my heart if you’d said yes.”

It took everything Martha had to not flinch at his words. Broken hearts indeed.

“Anyway, I was just passing and thought I’d stop to see if you were able to find the vids of the wedding. I’m really hoping to see some footage of me in my proper kilt.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve really looked for it and been unable to find it.”

The Doctor brushed past her into the flat. “Look, I know you’re Rose’s best friend and you’ve never warmed to me.”

Martha closed the door and turned to protest.

He raised his hand. “No, no. We’ve never gotten friendly and I really hope that can change in the future. Because I really am nice, despite my horrible taste in breakfast foods,” he said, waving the bag of jelly babies.

Martha smiled.

“It would really be great if we could be friends,” he said.

“I agree. It would be good for all of us. Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean we can find the video. I couldn’t find any trace.”

“Well, fresh eyes and all that,” he said, slipping on a pair of glasses. He walked over to a shelf of videos and began reading labels. “Could it, perhaps, be the one labeled ‘Rose and the Doctor’s wedding’?”

“Huh. Well, it could have been. But I think I taped over it,” she said, cringing as he put the tape in the machine.

The Doctor took off his coat and flung it on the sofa before sitting down.

“Oh, fantastic!” he said as he watched himself on the screen, waiting for Rose. “Oh, that’s lovely. Well done, Martha.”

Martha sank slowly onto the arm of the sofa, watching the Doctor on the screen and the back of the real one’s head.

“Oh, thank you, Martha,” he said, looking over his shoulder to smile at her. He turned back to watch. “You know, I look quite handsome.”

Martha wished for the earth to open up and swallow her. Or for the Doctor to just leave. Where was a medical emergency when you really needed one?

“You certainly stayed close,” he said as he watched close-up after close-up of himself. His smile dimmed as he realized there weren’t a lot of shots of him and Rose together. In fact, the only one he saw was of the two of them dancing, and that one quickly zoomed in to the Doctor’s face.

He turned to Martha, a look of shock on his face. “They’re all of me,” he said softly.

“Yeah. Yeah,” she said awkwardly.

“All of them,” he said as he looked back at the screen to see himself waving from the boat they left the reception on—the good ship Tardis. The tape ended on his smiling face.

“But, you never talk to me,” he said, turning back to Martha. “You always talk to Rose. You don’t _like_ me.”

“Yes, well. I hope the tape is useful. Wouldn’t want the entire family to think you were improperly attired. I have to go—early lunch. You can show yourself out,” she said, realizing she was babbling as she reached to take her coat off the rack. She paused near the door and turned to face him. 

“It’s…it’s a self-preservation thing, you see,” she said.

The Doctor nodded numbly.

Martha hurried out of her flat. She stopped four feet from her front door and turned to go back inside, then bit her knuckles and turned back toward the road. She picked up her pace, almost running. She had to get away. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t go home. Couldn’t face him; couldn’t face Rose. She’d just keep walking. She’d walk forever if she had to.  
****

Rhys looked up as Elle knocked on his door.

“Ah, good, come in,” he said. It was late in the day and he’d shucked his suit jacket and tie and rolled his sleeves up.

She smiled and came in, closing the door behind her.

“Elle, my dear. Smartest woman I know. Light of my campaign,” he began.

She raised an eyebrow. “This better not end with me having to bury a prostitute. You _really_ don’t pay me enough for that.”

“Nothing like that. I do need a favor, though.”

“Anything for the hero of the hour,” she said, taking a seat across from him.

“Good. Now, don’t ask me why and don’t read anything into it. It’s a weird personality thing. You know Gwen?”

“The loud one?”

“Oo, would we call her loud?”

“You might not, being Welsh. The rest of us…”

“All right. I’m sure she’s a lovely girl; but, I wonder if you could…redistribute her?” he asked, cringing inside even as he did so. This was the coward’s way out, and he knew it.

“Done,” Elle replied.

“Right, done,” he said, nodding at her. It was why he had hired her, after all—that ruthless efficiency.

She nodded back and left the office.

Rhys stared at the closed door, wanting to call her back and say he’d changed his mind.

 _Damn. Damn, damn, damn._  
****

Mickey was sitting at his drafting table, a picture of his lovely Myfanwy beside him. He was trying to figure out what she would have done to help Andy in his current crisis.

The soft scuff of a bare foot drew him out of his reverie. He turned to see Andy standing there in his pajamas and robe.

“Hey, kiddo. Can’t sleep?” he asked.

Andy shook his head solemnly. “Got terrible news today.”

Mickey visibly braced himself. “All right, let’s have it.”

“Myfanwy’s going back to America.”

“You’re girl’s American?”

“She’s not my girl,” he said forlornly. “And yes, she’s American. She’s going back to America and my life as I know it is over,” he said, flinging himself into the padded armchair in the corner.

Mickey nodded his head solemnly. “That is bad news.” He clapped his hands. “Right. We need Kate and we need Leo and we need them now!”

Mickey picked Andy up and slung him over his shoulder, carrying him into the living room. He turned on the DVD player and chose the right scene; the only one that had been able to give Andy some hope lately. 

Just as Andy was about to get a little to maudlin, Mickey leaned over and started to tickle him. Andy laughed and scrambled for the remote. Then he sighed.

“She was the one for him,” Andy said.

“I’m sure your American is unique and extraordinary, Andy. But the truth is, in the end, there isn’t just one person for each of us,” Mickey said, cuddling the small boy against his side.

“Was for Kate and Leo.” He looked up. “Was for you. There is for me. She’s the _one_.”

Mickey nodded. “Fair enough.” He kissed Andy on the top of the head. “Her name’s Myfanwy, eh?”

“Same as mum.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

Andy just shook his head and started the movie back up.  
****

Rhys was sitting on his couch with papers spread all over the coffee table in front of him. He had thought he understood the sheer amount of paperwork that came with the job. He was coming to realize that he truly had had no idea. He wondered vaguely if it would be treason of some sort if he made Elle do most of it.

A light knock at the door drew his attention and, for a split-second, his heart began to beat faster. His smile froze as he realized it wouldn’t—couldn’t—be Gwen. He nodded gamely at the older woman who set the tray of tea and biscuits—no chocolate ones—at the end of the table.  
****

Jack tried very hard not to look at Ianto as he carried bags of presents out to Jack’s car. Today was his last day here in Wales; he had a lot to do when he got home, including finally going to see the solicitor Jackie had recommended.

“Sorry about all the bags, really,” Jack said as he tried to get everything to fit.

Ianto just smiled at him and gently pushed Jack to the side. Within moments, he had everything safely tucked in the boot, with room to spare.

“Those organizational skills are really remarkable, Ianto,” Jack said, resting his hand on Ianto’s back. He bit his lip at the tingle that went through his hand. It was the most he’d touched Ianto in all these weeks.

Ianto suppressed a shiver of desire, suddenly wishing he had taken longer to pack the boot. It would have meant a few more moments with Jack. Rhi said Jack came at least once a year, but who knew if he would see him again?

“Well, I guess I’d better get you into town, then,” Jack said. Because Ianto wouldn’t be working a full day, Jack had agreed to drop him at the school where Rhi taught.

Jack drove as slowly as he dared, wanting to prolong these last moments as long as he could.

Ianto looked out the window at the school as Jack parked the car. “ _Well, goodbye, Jack_ ,” he said softly, then got out of the car.

Jack suddenly realized he couldn’t let that be it. He scrambled out of the car and came around the hood to catch up with Ianto. He gently took Ianto’s elbow to stop him.

“I am going to miss you, Ianto. More than I thought I could.”

Ianto recognized the sadness in the other man’s eyes. _“I will miss you, Jack,”_ he said, then bit his lip. He gave him a small, wicked smile. “ _And your very slow typing and your very bad driving.”_

Jack laughed at Ianto’s hand gestures and expression, knowing he was being made fun of and not caring. Anything to see that smile on Ianto’s face.

Without taking the time to worry about the consequences, Ianto leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Jack’s lips. He stepped back and covered his mouth, as though to hold the kiss in, then hurried away. He lifted his hand away from his mouth to wipe away the tears that were falling.

Jack stood watching Ianto go, his fingertips pressed to his lips. He wanted desperately to go after him, to wrap him in his arms and bundle him away. But he couldn’t; it was obvious Ianto needed to stay.

He climbed into the car in a daze and pulled into traffic, right into an angry woman’s station wagon.

Ianto heard the collision and almost turned back to look. He wanted to make sure Jack was okay, but he knew if he looked back, he would go back. And he couldn’t take it if Jack had crashed because he was startled and repulsed at what Ianto had done. But what if he wasn’t? What if he wanted to be with Ianto?

No, it was better to leave himself with the fantasy; that Jack _could have_ wanted him.

Wasn’t it?  
****

On a television screen in a display in a nondescript store, John Hart was performing his ass off in the video for “Christmas Is All Around”. He had models in itty-bitty Santa suits, slicked back hair and fuck-me red lipstick backing him up as he shook his arse for all it was worth in tight black leather pants and a silk shirt opened down to _there._

Andy was standing in the street watching the video and a light went on in his eyes. He turned and ran for home, desperate to share his new plan with Mickey.  
****

“Mickey!”

Mickey turned around on his drafting stool and stared at the door. He hadn’t heard that much life in Andy’s voice in _weeks._

“Yes, what is it?” Mickey asked as the boy burst into the room.

“I have a plan!”

“Thank the Lord! Tell me!”

“Well, girls love musicians, don’t they? Even the really weird ones.”

“Definitely. Meat Loaf got laid at least once. For God’s sake, Ringo Starr married a _Bond girl.”_

Andy looked at him blankly. “I don’t know what that means. There’s this big concert at school and Myfanwy is singing in it and I thought it would be absolutely superb if I was in the band. Then, there’s a chance she might fall in love with me. What do you think?” he asked, finally pausing for breath.

“I think it’s _brilliant_. Absolutely stellar. Apart from one tiny, obvious, baby little hiccup.”

“I don’t play a musical instrument?”

“Yes sir,” Mickey said, tapping the end of his nose.

“Tiny, insignificant detail,” Andy said.

Days later, as Mickey wandered by the door to Andy’s room in the middle of the night, he glared at the “Rhythm is my LIFE” scrawled on the door’s chalkboard. 

Tiny, insignificant detail, his arse. He _missed_ sleep.  
****

Suzie smiled as she put the finishing touches on her Charlie Brown Christmas tree on her desk. She would admit she was a little nervous about leaving the office. Leaving the office meant going home to get ready for the party. The part Tommy would no doubt be at, looking gorgeous. And Owen would be looking at _her_ with raised eyebrows and Tosh would be looking at her with a face that said, “Go talk to him already”. She wasn’t sure she was up to that. But if she didn’t go, Owen would start calling. And then Tosh would start calling.

Sighing, she left the office and went home to change. She just hoped Diane had bought a _lot_ of liquor.  
****

Tosh was looking around, smiling at the people enjoying the party. This year’s do seemed to be a booming success so far. Owen kept looking around, probably to see if Suzie was finally going to make a move on Tommy.

“Well, I guess I’ll go do the duty rounds, then,” she said to Owen.

“I’ll love you forever if you do.”

She smirked. “You’re already contractually bound to do so.”

“Knew I should have read that prenup more carefully.”

Tosh laughed and kissed him on the cheek. “Still, I’ll let you think of how to make it up to me.”

“You are a saint.”

She waved at him over her shoulder as she disappeared into the crowd, drink clutched firmly in hand.

Owen surveyed the crowd, finally spotting Diane. She was wearing a tight little red dress and devil horns. Perhaps not Christmas-themed, but definitely festive.

Diane sauntered over to him. “Care to dance with your poor, lonely receptionist?”

“Oh, er. All right.” He was just being friendly, after all. He allowed her to pull him onto the dance floor to dance.

Tosh was chatting with Suzie when she caught sight of Owen dancing with Diane. Her face fell as she saw them. She knew the look in Diane’s eye. She’d once had that look herself when she was that close to Owen.

“You’re looking very pretty tonight,” Owen said to Diane.

Diane leaned in. “It’s for you,” she said, her voice husky.

“Sorry?” Owen asked, caught off guard. No one had been that forward with him in years.

Diane leaned up close, pressing her body against him so she could whisper in his ear. “It’s _all_ for you, sir.”

Tosh watched Diane whisper in Owen’s ear and took a sip of her drink. A long sip.  
****

Rhys sat back on his couch, finally having enough free time that he could actually be in casual clothes in his private quarters. He sighed as he stared at the paperwork. Elle had been right; Gwen had been quite loud. He found he missed the sound of her voice and her loud laugh.

He shook his head and flipped on the TV.

John Hart was sitting on a comfortable sofa, being interviewed by Graham Norton. Rhys left it on; he’d always had a soft spot in his heart for Norton and his antics.

“So, John, this must be a very exciting time for you, battling it out for the Christmas number one. How’s it looking so far?”

“Not nearly as bright as that suit,” John replied.

“Yes, well, not all of us can pull off that much black leather.”

John laughed. “Seriously, though. It’s looking terrible. Those damnable Azul boys are outselling me five to one.”

“Well, there are five of them.”

“Yes. Think you could wear them out for me, darling?”

Graham laughed out loud as the audience let out a monster squee.

“I am hoping for a late surge, however. In fact, if I reach number one, I promise to sing the song on television on Christmas Eve stark bollocking naked.”

“You mean that?”

“Of _course_ I mean it. You want a preview, you flirt?” John rose from the sofa and stood in front of Graham, opening his belt.

Graham leaned around John to face the camera. “ _That_ will never make number one.”

Rhys was still chuckling as he turned off the television.  
****

Tosh was still standing with Suzie, needing to concentrate on the other woman’s plight so she wouldn’t cause a scene by walking over to her husband and dragging the trollop dancing with him out of there by her devil horns.

“I suppose it’s his job to dance with everyone,” Suzie said, trying to be helpful.

“Some more than others,” Tosh replied.

The two women shared a look before Tosh quickly turned away to stare at a piece of artwork. Suzie was confused for a moment before she felt someone touch her arm. She turned to find Tommy standing beside her.

“Would you like to dance? I thought we should have one before we run out of time,” he said.

“Me?”

“Unless you don’t—”

“No, no. Yes. Good.” She didn’t even see Tosh move to take her drink from her hand before Tommy led her out onto the dance floor.

They were only dancing a few moments before a slow song started. Suzie paused awkwardly, unsure of how to let Tommy off the hook. Tommy quickly took her hand and put it on his hip, then took her other one and held it as he started to dance slowly with her.

Suzie saw Tosh making faces at her and realized she was holding her breath. She let it out and felt herself relaxing into Tommy’s arms. Tommy lifted his hand to play with a strand of her hair as they danced. Suzie smiled into his shoulder and tightened her hand on his back. She knew she could happily do this forever. When the party was over and he asked if he could drive her home, she happily accepted.

Suzie tried very hard not to keep looking at Tommy as he drove; unaware that Tommy kept sneaking glances at her. Unaware until they caught each other and they both smiled warmly before looking away.

Tommy walked her to her door and made sure she got inside. “Well, I’d better go, now that you’re home safely.”

“Good night.”

“Good night,” he said, then leaned in to kiss her cheek. He paused, then tilted his head to kiss her on the mouth.

Suzie’s eyelids fluttered closed just as the kiss turned from sweet to sensual. 

Tommy pulled back and smiled down at her. “Actually, I don’t _have_ to go.”

“Good, right. Just…wait down here for a second.”

“Of course,” Tommy said, nodding.

Suzie dashed around the corner to do a quick happy dance on her stairs. She took a deep breath then returned to Tommy. “Right. That’s done. Come upstairs in about 15 seconds.”

“All right. Fifteen seconds.”

Suzie sprinted up the stairs and began tidying up her room. Poor teddy bear would have to hang out under the bed. She had just finished taking off her coat and tossing it onto a chair when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Tommy was standing at the top of the stairs, watching her with a hungry look on his face. She rushed toward him as he hurried to her and they met in a passionate kiss. Tommy shoved his coat off and pulled his jumper over his head, leaving his torso naked and at the mercy of Suzie’s hands.

Suzie moaned into Tommy’s mouth as she finally felt his warm, muscular body under her hands. His hands moved to her dress, trying to undress her. He laughed against her mouth as the dress got stuck. 

“Just tug on it,” she said, gasping for breath. She held her arms up as he gave it a good, proper yank, leaving her in her bra and slip. 

Tommy bent his head to kiss her neck as he lifted her and carried her to the bed. He turned and fell back onto it, letting her settle on top of him as he lifted her head to kiss her again.

Suzie thought her brain was going to explode. There was no way in the world it could be safe to be feeling this many intense emotions all at once. She tugged at the hem of her dress self-consciously; she knew her legs weren’t the shapeliest of limbs.

Tommy sat up beneath her, settling her firmly in his lap. He cupped her face in his hands and looked into her eyes. “You’re beautiful.” He stroked her cheekbones with his thumb before kissing her again, nibbling on her lower lip before sliding his tongue into her mouth.

Suzie sighed as she reached back and unhooked her bra.

Her phone rang.

Suzie pulled back and looked down at Tommy. Her gaze flicked to the bedside table, where her phone rested. “I’d better answer.”

Tommy nodded, breathless.

Suzie reached over to pick up the phone, refusing to get off of Tommy’s lap. “Yes, babe,” she said into the phone. “No, not busy. Fire away.” She folded an arm across her chest to cover her breasts. “Yes, well, I’m not sure it’s possible to get the pope on the phone tonight. Yes, I’m sure he’s very good at exorcisms,” she said, wincing. She crawled off Tommy’s lap, unable to look him in the face as she had this conversation.

“Absolutely, Bon Jovi is as well. I’ll look into it, I promise. Okay. Love you,” she said, then closed the phone. She took a deep breath and turned to look at Tommy, who just reached out to hold her hand.

“I’m sorry. My brother is…not well. He has a lot of memory and awareness problems. He calls me. A lot.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s fine. Well, it’s not fine, but. You see, our parents are gone and there’s just me and I had to bring him here where my job is and I’m glad to do it—”

Tommy put his fingers on her lips. “Life is full of interruptions and complications. So?”

“So,” she replied and leaned forward to kiss him. He tugged her down on top of him again, burying his hands in her hair.

Her phone rang again.

Tommy’s hand closed gently on her wrist as she reached blindly for the phone. “Will it make him better?”

Her gaze flicked between his hand on her wrist and the phone. “No.”

“Then leave it, please. Don’t answer it tonight.”

Suzie thought about it as the phone continued to ring. She deserved this. Just one night of happiness out of so many others.

The phone lit up as it rang, accusing her.

“Hey, how ya doing?” she said into the phone. “Right. Right. Oh no, please don’t, darling.”

Tommy carefully slipped out from under her and to the end of the bed.

“No, we’ll find the answer and it won’t hurt any more. No, I’m not busy. I’ll come over if you want me to.”

Tommy sat at the foot of the bed and buried his face in his hands.  
****

Owen settled himself down onto the bed, groaning as he took his shoes off.

“Well, that was a good night. Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves.”

“Mm-hm.”

“I felt fat.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“It’s true. These days, the only clothes I can get into used to belong to Pavarotti.”

Owen smiled at her. “Well, I have always thought that Pavarotti was a terribly sharp dresser.”

She smiled and looked away as she put her clothes in the hamper.

“Diane is very pretty,” she said softly.

“Is she?”

Tosh turned to look at her husband, who had managed one of his amazing quick changes and was now sitting in bed in his pajamas.

“You know she is, darling,” she said. She walked over to the bed and settled down beside him. “Be careful there,” she warned softly before turning out the light.

Owen stared at his wife in the dim light long after her breathing even out into restful slumber.  
****

Across town from the tense Harper-Sato household, Diane skimmed out of her red dress, revealing panties and bra of the same shade. She slid her hands down over her body and smiled.

Soon.  
****

Suzie looked around the hospital common room, waiting for her brother, Adam, to be ready to look at her. She hated and liked this place. She hated it because it had to exist; that she had to see Adam here. But she liked it because she knew they took good care of him.

Adam made a noise beside her and she turned to look at him. She gave him a soft smile.

“Have you been watching the stuff on TV?” she asked.

“Yeah. Every night and every day.”

“Good.” If Adam was watching the TV, he wasn’t falling into his own voices and depression.

“The nurses are trying to kill me,” he said with quiet conviction.

“Nobody’s trying to kill you, babe.”

Adam took a swing at her and she easily caught it in her hand. A male nurse hurried in to hold Adam’s arm.

“Thank you,” she said softly to the nurse.

Adam jerked his arm in their grip.

“Don’t do that, my darling,” Suzie soothed.

The nurse helped her lower Adam’s arm to his lap. She nodded at him and he stepped back.

“Don’t do that,” she admonished. She leaned forward to rub her hands over his knees.

Adam reached out and took her ands in his, squeezing gently. His eyes were clear as she smiled at him.  
****

After a tense night in bed, Owen had been glad to get out of the house to finish some things at the office before he met Tosh for their traditional day of shopping.

Now, he was dreading having to go past Diane’s desk to go meet his wife.

He took a deep breath and hurried out of his office. “All right, I’m going Christmas shopping.”

“Are you going to get me anything?” Diane asked.

Owen paused, silently cursing himself for doing so. “Uh, I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it,” he said, looking anywhere but at Diane. “Where’s Suzie?”

“Couldn’t make it in. Family thing.”

“Ah, now there’s an excuse for hangover I’ve never heard before. See you later,” he said, walking past her desk.

“Yes, looking forward to it.”

Owen paused and looked back.

“A lot,” she said, winking.  
****

Owen only made it to the outskirts of the shopping mall before he had to call Diane.

“Are you going to get me something?” he asked when she answered.

“You can have everything when it comes to me.”

Owen sucked in a deep breath at that. “What do you need? Something along the stationary line?”

“No. I don’t want something I need. I want something I _want_. Something pretty.”

“Right.” He looked up and saw Tosh coming toward him. He lifted his arm to wave at her, a smile fixed on his face. “Bye,” he said, then closed his phone.

“Sorry I’m late,” Tosh said, breathless. “I had to drop Katie off at rehearsal. Who knew being a lobster would take so much work?”

Owen chuckled and bent to kiss her on the cheek. They walked inside and surveyed the large shop.

“All right, you keep yourself occupied while I go do the boring shopping for our mothers. It shouldn’t take too long.”

Owen nodded absently and wandered toward the jewelry counter. He looked over the wares and paused when he spotted a shiny gold heart with a ruby in it.

“Can I help you, sir?” a pretty blonde asked him. Her gold nametag read ‘Hannah’.

“Er, yes. How much for that one?” he asked, pointing at the necklace.

“Ah, excellent choice, sir. That one is 250 pounds.”

Owen gasped. It _had_ been a long time since he’d bought jewelry. But when you want something…

“I’ll have it.”

“Fantastic. Gift wrapped?” she asked brightly.

“All right, sure,” he said, looking to see if Tosh was headed his way.

“Lovely. First, we pop it in a box,” she said, putting the necklace in a small gold box.

“Um, could we be quick?”

“Oh, you will be ready in the flashiest of flashes.” She put the box in a clear plastic bag. She grinned brightly as she settled the bag into a velvet-lined holder with a flourish.

“No, really, I don’t need a bag.”

“This isn’t a bag, sir,” she said, seeming mildly offended. “ _This_ is much more than a bag.” She reached beneath the counter and pulled out a silver scooper. Smiling at Owen, she plunged it into a drawer of baby dried roses and tossed two scoops into the bag.

Owen anxiously looked around for Tosh. “No, really, I—”

“Ah, ah, ah,” she said, wagging a finger at him as she carefully tossed pine sprigs into the bag. Then she reached in another drawer and pulled out a stick.

“What the hell is that?” Owen asked.

Hannah gave him a puzzled look. “It’s a cinnamon stick.”

“I don’t want cinnamon, I want it _done_!”

“It is but the work of a moment,” she said as she began to tie the bag closed with a gold ribbon. “Almost finished,” she assured him.

“ _Almost_ finished? What are you going to do next? Dip it in yoghurt? Cover it with chocolate buttons?”

She laughed. “No. It needs the Christmas Box!” she said with glee.

“But I don’t want a box, just gift-wrapped!”

“Now all we need is a sprig of holly.”

“No! No holly, no—”

“Ah, caught you at the jewelry counter,” Tosh said.

Owen quickly spun away from the counter and the confused salesgirl.

“No, just waiting.”

Tosh patted him on the arm. “Oh, don’t worry. I have no high expectations after 13 years of, ‘Oh, but you’ve always _loved_ scarves’,” she said as they walked away.

 ** _One Week to Christmas_**  
It was pouring down rain outside as Gina stood in front of her sister’s home, leaning on the buzzer.

“What the hell?” Elle asked as she opened the door. “What are you doing here? And why are you wearing a large backpack?”

“All very good questions,” Gina said as she pushed past her into the warm interior of Elle’s home.

“And the answers are?” Elle asked, closing the door and following Gina into the hallway.

“Had to rent out the flat to pay for my plane ticket,” Gina said as she dropped the backpack on the hardwood floor and shrugged out of her coat. 

Elle rolled her eyes. “You are not _actually_ going through with this genuinely stupid plan of yours, are you?”

“It is genuinely genius. Towel?”

Elle sighed and fetched a towel so Gina could dry her hair. “Stupid,” she said as she handed the towel to Gina.

“Brilliant. See that backpack? It’s not packed with all my worldly traveling goods. Nope. Full of condoms and sexy knickers.”

“I’m going to get a call from American customs, aren’t I?”  
****

Merlin was naked again. This time, on his knees simulating giving Arthur head.

“Excellent!” the assistant director called. “Merlin, if you could just put your hands on Arthur’s hips? Thumbs on the hipbones. There you go.”

Yes, naked with his hands on Arthur’s hips. Close enough to know that the constraints of Arthur’s vanity patch were being sorely tested. He hoped Arthur couldn’t see him blushing.

For his part, Arthur was trying to figure out what to do with his hands. He obviously couldn’t touch Merlin—well, not without embarrassing them both. He finally settled on putting them behind him, at the small of his back, so he wouldn’t bury his fingers in those dark locks.

 _Fuck it_ , he thought. “So, um, sorry to be a bit forward and all, but…” he paused as Merlin tilted his head slightly to look at his face. _Get a hold of yourself, Pendragon!_ “I was wondering if you wouldn’t like to go for a Christmas drink. Nothing at all implied,” he said, lifting his hands.

Merlin smiled.

“Just, you know, going for something Christmasy or something,” he said, cringing inwardly as he realized he was babbling with both words and hand gestures.”

“No, that would be lovely. Thank you.”

“All right, that’s good,” the assistant director said. “Let’s get those bed shots.”

“It’s just, I normally have a hard time talking to people on these things,” Arthur said a few minutes later. He was lying on his back with Merlin sitting on his chest, his thighs on either side of Arthur’s head.

“You don’t strike me as the shy type,” Merlin replied.

“Oh, but I am. At least, around people I don’t know.”

“Hands!” shouted the assistant director.

Arthur lifted his arms to wrap his hands around Merlin’s thighs.

“Well, then I am especially glad you asked me out for that drink.”  
****

 _One week, one week_ , Mickey kept thinking to himself as he walked toward Andy’s room. One more week and the concert would be over. Andy would either be ecstatic and in the throes of an epic romance, or heartbroken and in the depths of an epic tragedy.

He glared at the sign on Andy’s door.

 _Either way, you’re out of here, Ringo._  
****

“Tell me again why you’re so late,” Tosh said as she helped her husband out of his jacket.

“There was a thing with paperwork and boxes and—it doesn’t matter. I’m home now,” he said, pressing an absentminded kiss to her forehead.

“Well hurry in to the living room; they’ve been waiting to give you the big preview,” she said, pushing him off as she hung up his coat. She felt a hard lump in the pocket and just couldn’t resist.

She pulled out a box and opened it. Inside was a gorgeous gold necklace. So, she _had_ interrupted him at the jewelry counter the other day. She bit her lip and stuffed the box back in the coat pocket.

She was careful to keep the smile off her face as she joined her family in the living room.  
****

Jack sat in a hard plastic chair in the London School of Language, scowling at the voice in his headphones. He would have had a far easier time learning the language if the instruction tape had sounded half as good as Ianto did when speaking in his native tongue.

_Native tongue…_

Jack shook his head and concentrated on the proper way to tell the waiter he thinks the jellied eels have turned and that’s why he’s vomiting.

On the upside, he knew who on the tube knew Welsh, as they would give him supremely odd looks as he worked on his lessons while traveling in London.  
****

Tosh was futzing about under the tree, looking at the presents. She found the one she was looking for—a box with a familiar shape addressed to her. She flipped open the little card on top.

 _Sorry I’m such a grumpy bugger. Bad Owen,_ it read.

She smiled and hugged the box to her chest briefly before returning it to its spot beneath the tree.  
****

Elle was standing just outside of security with Gina, wondering if her younger sister would make it through to continue on this insane journey.

“You’re going to come back completely broken hearted,” she said.

“I may come back broke. I may come back _brokeback_. But I will not come back broken hearted. And if you keep talking like that, I am not bringing one back for you,” Gina said, grinning.

“You are on the road to disaster. And possible deportation.”

“I am on shag highway with nothing but the open road in front of me.” She turned to Elle and gave her a big hug and a smacking kiss on the cheek.

Elle watched her sister go through security. Once through, she turned to look back at Elle.

“America, watch out! Here comes Gina Atreides and she can shag. All. Night. Long.”

Elle waved and was very thankful she had left her ‘I just got out of rehab’ sunglasses on. Rhys would never forgive her if the press had caught sight or sound of this.  
****

“Harvelle’s,” Gina said, reading the name of the bar out loud. It was a little out of the way, but the odd man at the car rental agency had said it was the best bar around.

She walked inside, peeling off her gloves and shaking out her hair. Gina paused a moment to take in the sights and sounds of the place. There were a few occupied pool tables and a lot of tables and booths. Classic American rock was pounding out of a jukebox near the door. A woman was tending bar and gave Gina a once over that said she wouldn’t truck with any trouble in her place. 

“Hi,” Gina said, a huge smile on her face.

“What’ll it be?”

“Miller Lite. And a shot of Jack. Please,” she said, settling onto a bar stool.

The woman smiled as she pulled Gina’s beer.

“Dean! Got another Brit,” the bartender called out.

Gina turned to see where the bartender was looking.

A man straightened from his position at a pool table.

“Well, hello, _nurse_!” Gina said.  
****

Mickey stretched out on his couch, his head on a pillow at the middle. Andy’s head was on the other side of the pillow, his legs stretched across the couch in the opposite direction.

“Has she noticed you yet?” Mickey asked.

“No.”

“You don’t sound very worried.”

Andy tilted his head so he could look at Mickey. “The thing about great romances is that people only get together at the very end.”

“Ah.”

“I feel bad. I never ask how your love life’s going.”

“Ha, ha. Unless, of course, a smoking hot babe comes along and then I want you out of the house right away, you motherless mongrel.”

“Oh,” Andy said, pouting.

“Nope, sorry. We’ll want to have sex in every room, including yours.”

“Understandable,” Andy said with a sage nod.

 ** _Christmas Eve_**  
“It’s Christmas Eve!” the television presenter announced. “The big question is _who_ will be number _one_ —Azul or John Hart!” He grinned cheesily at his television audience. “Well, you may have guessed it, but may not _believe_ it. That’s right, kids! It’s dark horse John Hart!”

At the surprisingly well-attended victory/consolation (depending on how the sales went) party at John Hart’s flat, a mighty roar went up.

The phone rang.

“Turn that bloody TV down!” John shouted before answering it. “Hello?” he said into the phone.

“Congratulations, John!” the television host said into his own phone, praying John wouldn’t say anything on live television that would get him in trouble.

“Thank you. It was hard-fought.”

“And how will you be celebrating this victory?”

“That is a very good question! I can either get drunk with my long-suffering manager, who will then squawk at me about my big performance later. Or I could be flooded with invitations to big parties once I hang up with you. So, good night!” he said, hanging up the phone with a flourish.

A PA John had never seen before this evening—but whom he would very much like to see more of—handed him a phone.

“Hello? Why, yes, Elton, I’d love to pop round. Do send an embarrassingly big car.”

Donna watched him from the edge of the room and smiled. She usually hated Christmas, but this one was turning out to not be so bad.

She just hoped she’d still be thinking that after his television performance later in the evening.  
*****

Tommy finished packing up his desk for the night and looked over at Suzie’s desk. They had been awkward with each other since the night of the party. He felt bad for not trying harder to understand and Suzie, well, Suzie’s phone was ringing more and more as Christmas got closer.

He walked over to her desk. “Hi.”

“Hi. Have a good night, Tommy,” she replied softly.

Tommy thought she looked tired. “What are you doing tonight?”

“I’m going to see my brother. The holidays are really hard on him.”

Tommy nodded. “Would…could I come with you?”

Suzie’s smile was breathtaking.  
****

“Andy, time for dinner,” Mickey shouted through the closed door.

“I’m not hungry!” Andy shouted back over the sound of his drumming.

“I’m making kebabs!”

“ _Look_ at the sign on the door.”

Mickey stepped back and looked. Today’s chalkboard message was: I said—I’m not hungry.

 _One more night_ , Mickey thought to himself as he headed for the kitchen.  
****

Rhys walked into his sitting room and set the bright red briefcase (“So you won’t _lose_ it,” Elle had said) on the coffee table. He sat down on the sofa and opened the briefcase. On top was a bunch of greeting cards rubber-banded together with a note in Elle’s handwriting saying, “Read these—just a sampling!”

He shrugged and set them aside. He would need cheering up after reading the latest briefing on politics with the Americans.  
****

Jack gently kicked at the back door of his mother’s house.

“Really, Jack,” his sister, Emma, said as she opened the door. “I know Mum taught you how to knock.”

“Arms full of presents,” he explained.

She stepped back to let him in. “Kids, Uncle Jack’s here!”

The whole family filed into the kitchen, with the children yelling for their Uncle Jack. “We love Uncle Jack!”

Jack looked at his family, spotting Gray lurking toward the back with Estelle. He turned to look at his mother, who had a sympathetic smile on her face.

“Right. Hello. And…I’m off,” he said, then pressed a quick kiss to Emma’s cheek.

“Jack—what?” Emma said.

He set the presents on the table and took a step back. “Sorry, but a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”

“I hate Uncle Jack!” his forlorn niece said to his retreating back.

Jack went outside and climbed into his car. Traffic willing, he could make the cottage in a couple hours.  
****

“One present only for each of you!” Tosh fairly shouted over the din in her living room.

“Tosh, you go first,” Owen said.

She smiled at him. “No, no, I want to pick it,” she said as Katie went for a present from Tosh’s brother. She wanted to open Owen’s gift and wear it tonight.

“Ah, that’s the special one I bought for you,” Owen said.

She smiled at him and started neatly peeling at the paper.

“Rip it! Rip it!” Katie and Harp shouted.

She gave in with a laugh and revealed…a Joni Mitchell CD. “Joni Mitchell,” she said softly.

Owen’s face fell as she wasn’t as pleased as he’d thought she’d be. “It’s remastered,” he said.

She looked up, tears in her eyes. She smiled, hoping he would think they were tears of joy. “It’s such a surprise.”

“My brilliant wife,” he said, smiling.

“Hmm. You know, I’m going to absent myself for just a moment. Too much ice cream before the big show. Get them ready to go, would you?”

“Of course.”

She hurried past him up to their room. She shut the door and put the CD in. She let Joni’s voice wash over her as she looked around the room; at the mementos that made up her marriage.

Before she knew it, she was weeping openly. She knows just where that necklace must be if it’s not around her own neck. She took a deep breath and shook herself. Her children had a big night tonight and she was damned if that tart would ruin it. She would deal with this later. She took a moment to straighten the blanket at the foot of their bed, fighting back a sob as she thought of Owen in someone else’s bed.

She went downstairs, pausing at the bottom of the stairs to collect herself one last time.

“It’s a Christmas miracle! You’re all ready to go!” she said as she walked in to see them all coated and gloved and ready to go. “Come on, don’t want to be late!”  
****

Arthur walked Merlin to his door, the warm buzz he felt more from spending time with Merlin—fully clothed and without interruptions—than from the moderate amount he’d had to drink.

They stood on the step and stared at each other, smiling for a few minutes.

Merlin coughed to break the silence. “Well, um, I’d better be getting inside. It’s getting cold out.”

“Oh, yes, of course. Good night, Merlin.”

“Good night, Arthur.”

Arthur looked at him, wondering if it would be too forward to kiss him. He smiled at the thought of a kiss being too forward when he’d spent the last month with his hands all over Merlin’s skin.

Merlin stared back at Arthur, wondering if he was too shy to kiss Merlin or if he had lost interest after a few hours spent clothed with him. He finally decided to go for broke and leaned forward to kiss Arthur softly.

After a moment, they parted and Merlin pressed his lips together to keep the hint of Arthur’s taste to himself.

Arthur smiled at him. “Good night,” he said, his voice rough.

Merlin nodded and turned to unlock his door. He opened, it then looked back at Arthur.

“Arthur, all I want for Christmas…is you.”

Arthur chuckled softly. “Oh, right. Thank you, Merlin.”

Merlin smiled and went inside.

Arthur waited until he heard the lock engage before he jumped down the front steps, smiling broadly.  
****

Rose and the Doctor were snuggled up on the couch, the Doctor’s head in Rose’s lap as they prepared to watch Rudolph. He sighed softly as Rose ran her fingers through his hair.

“I’ll get it,” he said as the doorbell rang.

“I’ll check on the cocoa,” Rose replied.

The Doctor went to the door and opened it to find Martha standing on the doorstep. He turned his head to call for Rose when he saw Martha gesturing at him.

“Who is it?” Rose called out.

Martha held up a sign. TELL HER IT’S CAROL SINGERS.

The Doctor gave her a puzzled look before deciding to play along. “It’s carol singers.”

“Well give them a big tip and tell them to sod off. Rudolph’s on.”

Martha pressed the PLAY button on the CD player at her feet. _The Coventry Carol_ began to play as she moved to the next card.

WITH ANY LUCK, BY NEXT YEAR, the first one read.

I’LL BE GOING OUT WITH ONE OF THESE. She dropped that card to reveal lots of hot men in glasses.

The Doctor snickered.

BUT, FOR NOW, LET ME SAY.

WITHOUT HOPE OR AGENDA.

JUST BECAUSE IT’S CHRISTMAS.

AND AT CHRISTMAS, YOU TELL THE TRUTH.

The Doctor nodded, smiling.

TO ME, YOU ARE PERFECT.

AND MY WASTED HEART WILL LOVE YOU UNTIL YOU LOOK LIKE THIS.

She dropped the card to reveal a picture of an unwrapped mummy. He couldn’t hold back the laugh.

MERRY CHRISTMAS.

He mouthed “Merry Christmas” back to her.

Martha smiled and gave him a thumbs-up, then bent to collect her cards and turn off the music. She nodded at him before turning away to walk down the street.

The Doctor waited a moment, then hurried out into the street after her. He grabbed her wrist gently, urging her to stop. Martha turned to look at him. He stared into her eyes and smiled at her as he cupped her face in his hands. Then he tilted her head to press a kiss to her forehead before running back inside to Rose.

Martha stood smiling after him for a moment before turning back to head home.

“Enough,” she whispered to herself. “Enough now.”  
****

Suzie gazed around the common room, admiring the decorations that are beautiful and safe. Adam came in and shied a bit when he saw that his sister had a companion.

“Hello, darling,” Suzie said before she walked over to hug him.

Adam hugged her tightly, but gazed over her shoulder at the other man.

“Adam,” she said, pulling back, but keeping an arm wrapped around his waist as she turned to face Tommy. She waited until she had Adam’s attention before continuing. “This is my friend Tommy. He wanted to know if it would be okay if he celebrated with us.”

Adam whispered something in her ear.

“Yes, I checked him for aliens,” she replied.

Tommy held his hand out. “Nice to meet you, Adam.”

Adam shook it, smiling.

“Let’s get our Santa hats on, shall we?” Suzie asked, smiling at the two men she loved best.  
****

Donna sat in her flat watching TV. She had not been surprised when John had gone on to Elton’s party without her. Not being surprised did not mean it hadn’t hurt a little. But she had her lovely chocolate chip ice cream and comfy clothes and her DVR set for John’s performance. She had everything she needed to make this Christmas not suck horrendously.

She was disturbed by a knock at her door.

“I swear, if this is carol singers, I will make garters out of your—what are you doing here?” she asked as she saw John standing outside her door. “You’re supposed to be on telly in a few hours.”

“Right, well, I was at Elton’s,” he said as he brushed past her into the apartment.

“And?” she asked as she closed the door behind him.

“And I had an epiphany.”

“That a new drink?” she asked.

“No,” he replied, glaring at her.

“Ah, a _real_ epiphany. What was it? Finally realized Christmas was all around?”

He smirked at her. “No. I realized that Christmas is about being with the people you love. And as luck would have it, I’m midway through my life and I realized I’ve spent most of it with a loud, opinionated and crazily dangerous employee.”

Donna raised an eyebrow at him.

“So it occurs to me that the people I love is, actually, you.”

“Well, this is a surprise,” Donna said, fairly gobsmacked.

“ _You’re_ surprised? I stopped breathing for a moment when I realized. They thought I needed medical attention. Fifty hot naked chicks offered to give me mouth to mouth and I preferred to be here with you.”

Donna laughed.

“It’s a terrible, horrible mistake, but you turn out to be the fucking love of my life.”

“Oh, we are both completely buggered, then.”

“Shut up,” he said, no malice in his words. “Despite my complaining, we’ve had a wonderful life together. Thank you.”

“Well, despite all the puking on my shoes you’ve done and the horrible tarts you’ve made me kick out after breakfast for you, it’s been an honor,” she said, and held out her hand to him.

He took it, but used it to pull her into a tight hug. She returned it awkwardly for a moment before sinking into it.

John pulled back and gave her a smacking kiss on the mouth. “Now, let’s get drunk and watch porn before I have to go to the TV station.”  
****

Rhys finally tired of reading the documents and turned his attention to the stack of Christmas cards. He flipped through a few impersonal ones before coming to one with a grinning snowman on it. He flipped it open and recognized Gwen’s bold scrawl.

_Dear sir. Dear Rhys,  
Merry Christmas and I hop you have a good year. I am very sorry about the thing that happened. I feel like a prize lemming. Particularly because (and if you can’t say it at Christmas, when can you say it, yeah?), I’m actually yours._

_With love,  
Your Gwen_

He set the card aside, completely shocked by the confession. He picked it back up, his attention focused on the “Your Gwen”. His decision made, he leaned over to pick up the phone.

“James? I’ll need the car. Yes, right now.” He hung up the phone and grabbed his coat before running out to the door.

“Oh, don’t wait up,” he said to the doorman as he hurried past him.

“Where to, Sir?” James asked as he held the car door open for Rhys.

“Wandsworth. The dodgy end,” he replied, climbing into the car.

Rhys tapped his fingers on his knee the entire way across the bridge until they finally reached Wandsworth. 

“Which number, sir?” James asked.

“Oh God, it’s the longest street in the world and I have _absolutely_ no idea.”

“One at a time, then, sir?”

“Indeed,” Rhys said. He strolled up to the first house, vaguely aware that his security team was having fits behind him.

An elderly woman opened the first door.

“Hello. Is Gwen here?” he asked.

“No, sorry.”

“Right. Thank you,” he replied, then turned to go.

“Wait, aren’t you the prime minister?”

“Um, yes. Yes I am. Merry Christmas, mum. Part of the service now. Trying to get to everyone by the new year.”

She smiled at him before closing the door.

At the next house, he found no Gwen, but three little girls dressed like princesses who demanded carols. He was shocked to find out that James had a superb singing voice.

A dozen houses in, a woman in shockingly tiny pajamas wearing a gold necklace opened her door.

“Hello,” she said, her voice husky.

“Does Gwen live here?”

“No.”

Rhys nodded his head at another failure.

“She lives next door.”

Rhys’ eyes lit up. “Oh. Oh, thank you.”

“Wait, you’re not who I think you are, are you?”

“Yes, yes I am. Sorry for all the cock-ups. Will try to do better next year,” he said, in a hurry to get to Gwen. However, as he found himself in front of the door, he was anxious about actually reaching out to ring the doorbell. As soon as his finger landed on the bell, the door opened to reveal what appeared to be an entire family on their way out.

“Oh, hello,” he said.

“Where the fuck is my fucking coat? Hello,” Gwen said, pausing on the stairs.

“Hello.”

“Er, this is my mum and dad and, well, most of my family. Family, this is Rhys Williams, the prime minister,” Gwen said, blushing.

“Nice to meet you, Rhys,” Mr. Cooper said.

“Unfortunately, we’re very late for the school Christmas concert,” Gwen said.

“How can we help you?” Mrs. Cooper asked, nearly talking over her daughter.

“Oh, I just needed Gwen. For some state business,” he finished quickly. “Gwen, why don’t I give you a lift and we can talk in the car?”

Gwen’s whole face lit up. “All right.”

Moments later, he and Gwen were in the back seat of his car…with an octopus snug between them.

“How far is it?” Rhys asked.

“Oh, not far; just around the corner,” Gwen replied, smiling at him over the octopus’ head.

There was a silence as Rhys screwed up the courage to say what he wanted to say. “Well, I just wanted to say thank you for the Christmas card.”

“Oh. You’re welcome.” She turned in her seat to face him. “I’m so sorry about that day,” she blurted. “Nothing happened, I promise and I just felt like a fool because I think about you all the time and I think you’re really the—”

“We’re here!” the octopus said excitedly.

“Wow. It really was just around the corner,” Rhys said under his breath. He helped the octopus climb over him to get out of the car, getting at least two of the tentacles shoved into uncomfortable places for his trouble.

“Look, it’s probably best if I don’t come in,” he said when they were alone again. “The last thing anyone wants is a sleazy politician stealing the kids’ moment.”

“What about a fine, upstanding politician?”

“No, better not risk it.” He paused to turn his head to stare into her eyes. “But, I will be very sorry to drive away from you.”

Gwen reached out to take his hand. “Give me one minute,” she said, then let go of him and dashed out of the car.

Rhys watched through the windshield as Gwen sprinted toward the school. As she neared the door, she brushed past her brother, Will, who was chatting with his friend.

“So, Merlin’s been very mysterious about all this, Arthur. Just where did the two of you meet?” Will asked.

Merlin and Arthur exchanged furtive blushes and hurried into the auditorium. They passed Mickey, who was trying to tame Andy’s cowlick. Andy brandished his drumsticks at Mickey, causing him to back off with hands raised.

Rhys had just been about to tell James to go ahead and take them back to Number 10 when Gwen wrenched open his door.

“Well, come on,” she said, reaching her hand out to him.

He stared at her hand for a moment before taking it and letting her pull him out of the car. 

“I really don’t want to cause a scene.”

“Don’t worry. I found us a back way in.” She paused to look at him. “I am very sneaky.”

He smiled and followed her through a back door and soon they were in a hallway that obviously led to a backstage area. He wasn’t watching where he was going and ran smack dab into someone.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I—Tosh!” he said.

Tosh threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. “Oh, Rhys,” she whispered into his neck.

Rhys hugged her back, giving Gwen an apologetic look. She wasn’t worried; she had seen the family photo on Rhys’ desk.

“Are you all right?” Rhys asked, feeling tears against his skin.

“Yes, yes. Just an emotional time of year. What are you doing here? I mean, I left messages with all your secretaries, but it never occurred to me that you’d actually show up!” Tosh said, pulling back to wipe at her eyes.

“Well, I just wanted to be able to see without anyone knowing I was here. So Gwen here offered to sneak me in without a fuss.”

“Sorry, we haven’t been introduced. I’m Tosh,” Tosh said, extending her hand to Gwen.

“Gwen Cooper. She’s my—uh, well, she’s with me,” Rhys said.

“I see. Well, keep your eye on him. Don’t let him get away with any funny business just because of that goofy grin.”

“Tosh,” Rhys said, blushing.

Tosh hugged him. “Oh, I’ve never been so happy to see my big brother.”

“Mummy!” Katie said, tugging on her arm.

“Right, sorry, must get the lobster into costume,” Tosh said, pulling away. “We’ll talk later,” she called over her shoulder as Katie dragged her away.

“Is lobster a pet name?” Gwen asked.

“I’m…not quite sure.”

Gwen smiled at him. “All right. This way.”  
****

Tosh watched the nativity scene, beaming at Katie’s pride in being the first lobster. She wanted to hold her husband’s hand and share the moment with him, but she was still to raw. She took comfort from Mickey’s warmth beside her; he was fairly vibrating with nervous energy. If she turned her head slightly, she could see Merlin, her favorite intern, sitting just behind her with a strikingly handsome blond man.

The children ended their song and the crowd burst into proud applause.

“Yes, thank you. For the next number, Roundstone Elementary has chosen _All I Want for Christmas Is You,_ with lead vocals by Myfanwy Jones. Some of us instructors have been drafted into back-up roles and, for that, we humbly apologize,” the emcee said, wrapping a long silver scarf around his neck.

Mickey leaned forward in his seat, silently willing this performance to go off without a hitch. Andy _needed_ this.

A spotlight shone down on a lovely girl about Andy’s age with a brilliant smile and a slightly long nose. She had a beautiful voice, but Mickey was wondering where the hell Andy was.

Suddenly, the entire stage lit up as the band joined Myfanwy, led by a spectacular (if Mickey did say so himself) drum solo by Andy.

Gwen had snuck Rhys back behind a riser where they could watch the performance through a break in the curtains.

Andy grinned at Myfanwy, willing her to look at him. His gaze slipped quickly to the audience, where he found his stepdad giving him a thumbs-up. Andy managed to return the gesture before having to return his attention to Myfanwy and his drums.

A stage hand moved through the backstage, causing Gwen and Rhys to have to scurry to a new viewpoint. They ended up pressed against each other, looking into each other’s eyes and barely hearing the sounds of the audience cheering and dancing along with the performance. They had eyes only for each other.

Andy’s heart swelled as Myfanwy pointed to him as she announced in song that all she wanted for Christmas was him. His spirits crashed down right after as she pointed to others in the audience and he couldn’t help himself from crashing his drumsticks into the skins with more force than was strictly necessary.

Rhys moved closer to Gwen, tracing her cheekbone with his thumb before finally leaning in to kiss her. She sighed against his mouth, a soft, sweet sound he heard even over the sounds of the concert. He pressed his lips more tightly against hers as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

Neither of them noticed that the music had stopped until a blinding light fell upon them.

Tosh gasped as the stage curtains parted to reveal not only the large sign wishing everyone a Merry Christmas, but also her brother, the prime minister, snogging the life out of Gwen Cooper.

Rhys tore his mouth from Gwen to look out at the filled auditorium. “Right. So, not quite as secret as we hoped,” he said, smiling at the crowd.

“What do we do?” Gwen said through her own wide smile.

“Smile, bow, wave,” he replied. He took her free hand in his and held it as they back away.

Tosh, Mickey and Owen were on their feet cheering and whistling.  
*****

Once the hubbub had died down, the children scampered off to change out of their costumes. Tosh waited, conversing with other mums and trying to put off the inevitable. Finally, she couldn’t do it any more. It was a heavy weight in her chest and she couldn’t take it any longer. She walked over to stand beside her husband.

“Tell me, if you were in my position, what would you do?” she asked without looking at him.

“What?” Owen said, turning his head to look at her.

She looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. “Imagine,” she coughed, composing herself. “Imagine your husband bought a gold necklace and gave it to someone else.”

Owen’s breath caught in his throat. “Tosh…”

“Would you wait to find out if it’s just a necklace? Or a necklace and sex? Or, even worse, a necklace and,” she paused, choking on the word, “love?”

“I—” His words died in his throat as he saw the fierce look in Tosh’s eyes.

“Or would you cut me out?”

“God, I am so sorry, Tosh,” Owen said, desperate. “I am a classic fool.”

Tosh sniffed back her tears. “Yes, you are. But worse, you’ve made a fool out of me. You’ve made the life I lead—the life I built—foolish, too.”

Owen reached out to take her hand, but she was already pressing forward to shout praise over her children.  
****

Mickey swept Andy up into his arms and hugged him tightly. “Fantastic show, my lad! Classic!” he said as he set the boy on his feet.

“Thanks. It didn’t work though,” Andy said, dejected.

Mickey bent down to put his hands on Andy’s shoulders. “Tell her.”

“What?”

“Tell her you love her.”

“She’s leaving tonight.”

“Even better! It’s classic!”

Andy looked at him, uncertain.

“Look, I never told your mother enough. I should have told her every day. She was perfect every day.” He squeezed Andy’s shoulders. “You’ve seen the films, kiddo. It ain’t over till it’s over.”

Andy nodded, determined. “Okay, Dad, let’s do it. Let’s go get the shit kicked out of us by love.”

“Yes!” Mickey said and high-fived him.

Mickey straightened up and ran straight into…a smoking hottie. “Hello, sorry,” he said.

“Hello. You’re Andy’s dad,” she said.

“Stepdad, yeah. Mickey Smith,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Tish Jones,” she replied. 

Andy, having realized Mickey was no longer with him, hurried back over to him. He stood looking at his stepdad looking at Ms. Jones and smiled. Then he turned and smiled at Ms. Jones’ son, Jake, who was wearing a similar grin.

“Dad,” Andy whispered.

Mickey snapped out of his haze. “Right, sorry, epic romance to save. I hope we meet again,” he said as he took Andy’s hand and ran down the hall.

“You should tell her,” Andy said.

“What?”

Andy made kissing noises as they exited the building.

Mickey swatted his head. “Don’t be such an arse.”

“There she is,” Andy said, pointing. Myfanwy was just getting into a car. “Oh, no!”

“It’s okay; we’ll go to the airport. I know a shortcut!” Mickey said, dragging him to the car.  
****

Jack brought his car to a screeching halt in front of Rhiannon’s house, grimacing at the noise. His mechanic was going to have his head. He ran up to the door and pounded on it.

Johnny, Rhiannon’s husband, opened it. “Jack? What?”

“I’m here for Ianto.”

“He’s at work.”

Jack’s face fell.

Johnny chuckled. There had been a light in Ianto’s eyes the weeks he worked at Jack’s. “I’ll take you.” What the hell, it was Christmas.

Jack would have kissed him, but he was fully aware of Rhi’s wicked right hook.

They climbed into Johnny’s car and drove into town. They parked at the end of the street and began walking toward the chic little coffeehouse at the other end. As they moved up the pavement, they collected a following; _everyone_ knew Jack and they wanted to see what was going on.

Johnny led Jack into the coffeehouse.

 _“Daffyd, can you get Ianto for me?”_ Johnny asked the owner.

_“Why?”_

_“Jack here wants to see him.”_

Daffyd looked at Jack and sighed. He knew that look. _“No way. He can’t take Ianto. He’s my best barista and we’re swamped_ ,” he said, his arm making a sweeping motion.

Jack looked toward the raised area at the back of the shop where the machines were located. He finally spotted Ianto and moved closer.

 _“Good evening, Ianto_ ,” Jack said.

Ianto’s head snapped up and he met Jack’s gaze. He smiled, his heart hammering in his chest. _“Good evening, Jack.”_

 _“My dear Ianto. I know you are hurted. I want you to come away with me. I know I seem unsound because I don’t understand you. But some things are so transparency that they don’t need existential proof. I’ll move here—I have even learned the language. Or you can come to London. I don’t expect you to be as fool as me, especially with your hurts. But it’s Christmas and I just wanted to see if you…would be thinking on it,_ ” Jack finished, knowing it wasn’t perfect, but hoping it would be enough.

“Thank you,” Ianto said, and Jack’s eyes widened. “That would be nice. Yes. _Yes_.”

Jack swiftly moved through the crowd, catching Ianto in his arms as the younger man stepped down from the dais. He hugged him tightly, then stepped back and cupped Ianto’s face in his hands.

“You re-learned English,” he said softly.

“I thought it was time.”

Jack tilted his head forward and proceeded to snog Ianto breathless.  
****

Mickey and Andy rushed to a monitor to see that Myfanwy’s flight was in the final boarding process.

“Boarding pass?” an agent said, blocking their way.

“Look, he doesn’t have a boarding pass. But can’t you let him through, please? He’s just a little boy who wants to say goodbye to the love of his life,” Mickey explained.

“No. Boarding pass?” he said to the woman behind them.

Hannah Summers-Fogg grinned brilliantly at him. “Of course, I know it’s here _somewhere_ ,” she said as she began pulling items out of her bag.

“I’m sorry, lad,” Mickey said to Andy. “Unless,” he said, watching the multitude of items coming out of the woman’s purse.

“Unless?”

“Make a run for it,” Mickey whispered.

Andy nodded and swept by Hannah, running for security.

“Gee, I must have left it in my other coat,” Hannah said, then turned away from the agent, winking at Mickey.

Andy sprinted for all he was worth, skidding to a halt near the security line. He took a deep breath and ran, leaping over the security agent, who had bent over to wand someone. He shrugged out of his coat as another agent grabbed a hold of him. He ran through the terminal, dodging people and ignoring the shouts of the guards chasing him.

He came out on a glassed-in walkway and looked down upon the gate area. He saw Myfanwy and frowned as he realized she wouldn’t hear him. He hurried down a flight of stairs, then paused, wondering what to do. There were a lot of people hanging around the gate.

Suddenly, they all turned to look at the telly and Andy vaguely recognized the man who had set him off on his musical journey singing and—did he just rip his trousers off? He shook his head and took advantage of the distraction to run up to Myfanwy and tap her on the shoulder.

“Andy,” she said smiling.

Andy sucked in a breath. “You know my name. I thought you didn’t know my name,” he said, his voice full of wonder.

“Of course I know your name,” she said, a brilliant smile on her face.

A cough behind him caught Andy’s attention.

“Bugger,” he whispered as he turned to see four guards looking at him.

Mickey turned just as the guards cleared security with Andy.

“Well?” Mickey mouthed. 

Andy gave him a thumbs-up.

Mickey’s grin widened and he pointed over Andy’s shoulder.

Andy turned to see Myfanwy standing there. She hurried over to him and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before she turned to run back to her gate.

Andy spun slowly to face Mickey, a gobsmacked smile on his face. He ran into Mickey’s arms. Mickey picked him up, laughing as he twirled him around.

 ** _One month later_**  
John Hart entered the arrival area at Heathrow and threw his arms open to his screaming fans. Then he held his hand out to Donna, who rolled her eyes and took it. They walked out to his limo, Donna critiquing his comments on the American talk show as they went.

Jack and Ianto came through hand-in-hand, just back from their Mediterranean getaway. The Doctor, Rose and Martha were waiting for them. They exchanged hugs and kisses before Ianto looked at Jack and asked, “Honestly, do you have _any_ friends who aren’t drop-dead gorgeous?”

“What would be the point?” Jack asked, confused.

Rose laughed. “By the way, Mum wants to know if the book is finally done.”

“Oh yes. You could say I was inspired,” Jack said, looking longingly at Ianto.

Ianto obliged him with a passionate kiss, fast overcoming his nervousness over public displays of affection.

Owen returned from a medical conference, hoping against hope that Tosh would be there to fetch him. She was there, with the children. But at least she was there.

“How are you?” he asked.

“I’m fine. It’s good to have you back,” she replied.

Owen’s heart swelled because it sounded like she _meant_ it.

Myfanwy started waving at Andy as soon as she saw him. He broke free from where he was standing with Mickey, Tish and Jake.

“Hi,” Andy said, stopping in front of Myfanwy.

“Hi.”

“Aw, he should have kissed her,” Mickey moaned.

“No, what he did was cool. He’s good,” Tish assured him.

Elle waited for Gina, her sunglasses in place. _Just_ in case. She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to see her uni drinking buddy, Arthur, standing beside her with his boyfriend.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Merlin insisted you be the first to know,” he said, holding up Merlin’s hand to show off a very tasteful engagement band.

“Congratulations!” she said, hugging them both at once.

“We figured you’d be here waiting on the PM,” Arthur said.

“Gina, actually.”

“Ah, explains the sunglasses. Well, we’re off.”

“You came here just for that?”

“Oh, no, I’m taking him to Ireland for the weekend. We just spotted you and had to come say hello,” Arthur said, then dragged Merlin off.

Elle turned back and almost swallowed her tongue when Gina walked toward her with a very hot, dark blond-haired man in tow.

Gina enveloped her in a big hug before stepping back with a laugh. She took off Elle’s sunglasses and tucked them in her purse.

“Sorry that took so long. Customs looked a bit cross-eyed at Dean because he was still a bit sweaty,” Gina explained. “Nervous flyer,” she mouthed.

“Nice to meet you, Elle. I’ve heard a lot about you. Which is how I convinced my brother to come along,” Dean said.

Elle turned to see a ginormous man walking toward them.

“You must be Elle. I’m Sam,” the giant said.

“Hello, nurse,” Elle said, shaking Sam’s hand.

Dean grinned. _Sisters_.

Rhys was the last through. He had just lifted his hand to wave when a red blur leaped upon him, wrapping legs around his torso and kissing him breathless.

“Did you miss me?” he asked Gwen when she finally pulled back.

“Yes!”

He laughed and set her down. They turned and waved and smiled for the cameras, then headed out of the airport hand in hand.


End file.
